Addicted to His Sweetness
by alizarincrims0n
Summary: High school AU. Draco is a paperboy, Hermione is the girl who waits at her window every morning to catch a glimpse of him. One day, she has something very naughty in mind. M.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi everybody - thanks so much for viewing my story!**

**-Just a quick warning, there will be swearing and sex/sexual themes in this fic, and melodramatic misunderstandings fuelled by teenage angst. Oh and FLUFF (loads of it)**

**-The first chapter started out as a oneshot/standalone, but after that it morphs into my own take on a muggle AU set in high school/college, so if you like that kinda thing please do give it a try!**

**Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Hermione Granger tucked a stray lock of her thick curls behind her ear. She was sitting by her bedroom window, eagerly looking down at the quiet street below her.

The air was a dim grey, slowly radiating the wonderful morning pinks and yellows that Hermione loved so much. The birds had only recently woke, as their morning tunes floated through the open window and caressed her ears.

Hermione hadn't gotten up so early to hear the birds though, as much as she loved the little creatures, she had more pressing matters on her mind. Matters that flooded her body with warm heat and caused tingling flickers within her belly.

She brushed her clammy palms over her dressing gown, the softness of the material easing her spiking nerves a little. Because, after all, she was _only_ wearing a dressing gown.

Then she heard the tell-tale squeak of old bicycle tires, and there _he_ was. The gorgeous paper boy. His platinum hair was sticking to his forehead from the effort of his morning duties, and the leanness of his muscles rippled gracefully beneath the rolled up sleeves of his shirt.

Hermione drank in all these details gleefully, her heart rate speeding up drastically, and then sure enough, like he did every morning, he looked up to her window and smiled that smile worth ten million smiles. And Hermione, like she did every morning, waved numbly, her cheeks bright red.

She watched as he leant behind him to the bag strung on his bicycle, and pulled out a rolled up newspaper. He lobbed it over her father's meticulously groomed hedge, and then turned his head back up to her.

Hermione grinned, she must look entirely foolish, but she couldn't help it. She loved mornings, because she got to see him. She only hoped he didn't dread being a paper boy, and that maybe he delighted in seeing _her_.

That was why Hermione had decided to put together a little plan, to see if she brought on the same reactions in him, as he did in her. So that morning, instead of dressing in ordinary clothes, she'd just thrown on her gown, making sure to tie the knot very _loosely_.

So before the boy had time to reclaim the pedal of his bike, Hermione bent forward to push her window all the way, inconspicuously lowering her other arm to untie the robe. She knew she was being risky, because she was unfortunate enough to have very nosy neighbours, and a greasy, pimply boy who lived in the house opposite hers, happened to enjoy watching her window with binoculars.

But it was barely six in the morning, and as far as Hermione could tell the peeping boy's curtains were drawn.

So without further hesitance, she parted the fabric, and took in the look on the paper boy's face. His normally composed features morphed into a look of shock, and then his lips upturned at the corners with a sort of mischievous grin, and Hermione knew it was all worth it just for that glorious spark of arousal that shot through her.

The crisp air caused her nipples to peak, and on a whim Hermione rose one hand to pinch and tweak at her hard nubs.

The blonde boy's eyelids dropped to hoods, and his previously smirking mouth now hung slightly open. Hermione stared at his pale lips, no doubt chilled from the cold morning, and she imagined them on her skin, kissing her breasts and lapping at her flesh.

Her own lips parted in a throaty moan, just before she realised she'd probably been a little too loud, and her parents were asleep in the bedroom next to hers.

She blushed a deep rosy colour, happy to note that the boy's cheeks looked to be a similar hue. He adjusted himself on his bike seat, looking uncomfortable, and Hermione wanted to squeal with joy when she saw the tenting in his trousers.

He lifted his hand in a sort of salute, something he did every morning right before he had to leave. It was their departing signal, and Hermione reluctantly mimicked him, her lips forming a pout as he gave her another grin before riding away.

She sighed as she watched his retreating figure, pausing occasionally to throw a newspaper into her neighbour's gardens. There seemed to be an endless amount of hours between now and tomorrow morning, and Hermione wanted nothing more than a source of time travel.

With one last gloomy look, she pulled her window shut, suppressed a shiver, and then hastily retied her dressing gown.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione left her nighty on, because she had something else in mind, something even naughtier. She made sure to shimmy out of her knickers as soon as she woke up, throwing them into her hamper with a flush.

She didn't like to think she was embarrassed, but she was, because Hermione Granger, a shy virgin who knew nothing of sex beyond the pages of her books, had an undeniable crush on the paper boy. And she didn't even know his name.

Sometimes she felt ridiculous, but most of the time she just felt horny, and ready to practically jump out of the window and into his hopefully awaiting arms.

So that morning was like any other, with her waiting at the cold glass of her window, except this time she didn't have any underwear on, and her nipples were already pebbled with anxious arousal.

She heard the screeching of his pedals, and she sat up with excitement and put her hand to the glass, ready to push it open. Only the boy on the bike wasn't _her _boy. He was dark haired and stocky, and threw the paper in the direction of her house with a careless gesture and bad aim, because it landed _in _the hedge, and not over it.

Hermione felt waves of disappointment overwhelm her, and with a slump of her shoulders, she turned away and crawled back into her bed.

* * *

The following day Hermione woke with a groggy feeling and a terrible case of bed head. She woke up at this time every day, as her alarm was always set for five thirty, so she would be up and ready each morning before her paper boy arrived.

Today she was filled with anticipation, but also dread, because what if like yesterday he didn't turn up? She had dismissed the notion of having scared him off, as his expressions had indicated that fear had been the last thing on his mind. So she told herself he might have been sick, just a simple, morning chill induced cold. She doubted it, but she wanted so much to believe it.

Which is why she pulled out a notebook from her bedside table draw, scrawled out a sentence in her loopy handwriting, and the proceeded to fold it into a pretty neat paper plane. Feeling proud of her handiwork, but nervous about the contents of her secret note, she went to wait by the window.

She saw rather than heard him as he peddled along her street, hastily launching newspapers into everybody's gardens. When he came to a stop at her front gate, clearly out of breath, Hermione couldn't push her window open fast enough, and with a trembling hand she let go of her paper plane. She watched as the steady breeze caught the little vessel and blew it into the boy's direction. He caught it with ease, and Hermione watched with a dry mouth as his long, dexterous fingers unfolded the paper.

His grey eyes scanned over it without pause, and then he beamed up at her, a sly smirk painted across his lips. Hermione's heart constricted with a thrilling pleasure, and she saluted just as he finished delivering her family's paper and did the same.

As he rode away, Hermione couldn't help the excited squeak the left her. Her parents couldn't have chosen a better night to be out of town.

* * *

It was late afternoon, bordering on five o'clock, when the door bell rang. Hermione's parents had left shortly after lunch, as they had gone to visit her mother's sister, so Hermione had spent most of the afternoon prepping her appearance.

She'd showered, soaping her entire body with her favourite body wash, paying extra attention to her neck and chest area, before washing her hair with her cinnamon scented shampoo.

She'd decided against putting on makeup, as all the previous times the boy had seen her face he hadn't been scared to death by her natural features, a sign which she considered to be a good one.

Hermione couldn't contain the uneven beats in her chest as she raced down the stairs and practically flung herself to the front door.

She opened it, and there he was. He was so much taller now that he was right in front of her, and she realised with a very hot blush that '_boy'_ was now the last word she would use to describe him.

"Hi." She said, perhaps a little too quickly.

"Hi." He responded, and she heard that his voice was pure velvet. Smooth and low and almost husky.

His eyes raked greedily over her appearance, and her chest swelled, deciding that she had made the right choice to go with her short, tight fitting red dress and a pair of knee high socks covered in cats.

"Cute socks." He remarked.

"Thanks, uh—"

"Draco."

"Draco, hi…" She said sheepishly. Now was not the time for her nerves to kick in. "I'm Hermione."

"Hermione… That's a lovely name."

Her stained cheeks only got darker as her eyes roamed over his body, resting on the way the collar of his shirt parted perfectly above his collarbones, and the way his dark jeans hugged his narrow hips snuggly.

"Come in." She stood back, shutting the door behind him as he moved past her. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me, making you stand out there in the cold—"

She was cut off, because strong arms had suddenly snaked around her waist and pushed her up against the entryway wall. He exhaled ruggedly, his warm breath causing goose bumps to rise on her skin. "My god, you smell just as good as I imagined, Hermione."

His voice was so low, so hungry, that she moaned. Then his lips were tracing the contour of her neck, her hair pulled to side by one of his nimble hands, as he pushed his body into her back.

Her bum was nestled securely around the bulge of his arousal, and god, she couldn't believe he was already that hard. Then again, she could feel her own wetness beginning to soak through the thin fabric of her knickers. "_Draco._"

She gasped as his lips locked more forcefully around the side of her neck, sucking hard and laving with his tongue, before pulling back with a nip of his teeth.

"You don't know how long I've wanted this, Hermione. You're the biggest goddamn tease." His hands travelled down her sides, running over her curves and groping the flesh on her hips. Then his fingers gripped into her and he pulled her body further back into his with a sharp thrust, and she groaned, moving her hands up on either side of her shoulders to support her weight against the wall. "I want to fuck you right this second, right here, into this wall."

He bit her shoulder to emphasise his point, and she gasped out, "H-How long? How long have you wanted to… to fuck me?" Hermione blushed at her own words. She wasn't used to hearing such vulgar terms come out of her mouth. But she didn't care. Not now. She was more aroused than she'd ever been in her whole life.

Draco's hands moved from her hips up to her breasts, squeezing and fondling them through the thin layer of her bra. "Months. Since I first saw you through your window. God, Hermione. You shouldn't leave your curtains open when you get changed. Then the next day, there you were, just sitting there. I couldn't believe my luck."

Hermione giggled, feeling ecstatic, and pushed her bottom harder into his crotch. He gave a throaty moan. "You little vixen. I'm so fucking hard for you. But I'll wait. We should wait. I want this night to last forever." Hermione felt her heart swell. "You said your parents are gone right?"

Hermione nodded, biting her lip as his fingers rubbed the top of her bra above where her hard nipples were sitting. "Y-yes. Tonight and tomorrow."

She could feel Draco's lips pull into a smile against her neck, a chuckle at her enthusiasm. "Gonna show me your room?"

Hermione turned, her back now against the wall, and stood on her toes so she could reach his lips. But he pulled back from her, his face carefully masked of any emotion besides lust, and Hermione willed the sudden burning in her eyes to die down. "O-okay…"

So instead she took his hand, calming somewhat as his palm came to rest against hers as their fingers entwined, and she lead him up the stairs, and into her bedroom.

* * *

Hermione threw her head back, biting her lip harshly to stop her yells from becoming too loud. She couldn't really care less when she could taste blood in her mouth, she was too focused on Draco's fingers, stroking over her clit with a frustratingly slow pace.

She wanted more, all of him, but he wouldn't give it to her, and he still wouldn't kiss her. It was driving her insane. They'd been lying on her bed for more than an hour now, a jumble of tangled limbs and heated gropes. Then he'd pulled down her stockings and knickers in one go, and had since then been teasing her.

He'd touch her until she was on the edge, so close to coming undone, but then he'd withdraw his hand, and give attention to her breasts instead. Not that she was complaining. But she was _so _wet. And _so_ ready. "Draco…" She groaned out.

He was biting along her neck, his fingers still continuing with slow, sleek circles around her clit. "Mmm? What is it, Hermione?"

"Please…"

"Please, what?"

"P-please, let me come…"

He chuckled, low and deep. And then he was rubbing, pinching, pleasuring with such a force that it was beyond anything her own hand had been capable of doing. She writhed and squirmed, clenching her thighs together and trapping his hand there. All it took was one final touch, and she came, tremors wracking through her entire body.

She waited for her breathing to calm, and then she raised herself on one elbow, and reached down toward the front of his jeans. But his hands snuck around her wrist, stopping her, and she glared at him.

"Not yet, love." He murmured.

"Why not?"

"Because as soon as you touch me I'm going to come in my pants."

Hermione's fawny eyes widened, embarrassed but flattered. "S-sorry."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her, and brushed some of her flyaway hairs from her forehead. "Why should you apologise? It's not your fault you're so damn attractive." Hermione went completely red. No one had ever called her attractive before, especially not a male, and it caused a strange, yet welcome stirring in her chest. She must have looked dumbfounded, because his smoky eyes were suddenly full of humour. "You're welcome."

Then she giggled, and he laughed with her, and she wanted nothing more than to cuddle up to his warm body.

He looked thoughtful for a second, and then, as if he'd read her thoughts, suggested, "Shall we watch a movie?"

* * *

The two ordered pizza, picked a movie at random, and were now snuggled up on the coach beneath a woollen blanket.

"Favourite colour?" Draco asked, chewing on a slice of pizza. They hadn't been paying attention to the screen at all, too focused on learning each other, like a brand new book.

"Gold." Hermione answered, without thought.

"Technically not quite a colour, but okay. Green."

"Why green?"

Draco shrugged. "Dunno, it's soothing."

"Favourite book?"

"Clockwork Orange." He stated simply. Hermione looked at him sharply, but before she could question him he said, "You?"

"That's easy. Pride and Prejudice."

Draco laughed. "Typical girl."

"Excuse me, might I point out that _your _favourite isn't all that ideal either—"

"Okay, okay. Food?"

"Mum's casserole. Yours?"

"Pizza." He managed, through a giant mouthful.

Hermione giggled. "That seems accurate. Seeing as you've already ploughed through three quarters."

He gave her a wolfish expression. "Hey, a guy's gotta eat."

"Right. What would be your ideal date?"

He turned to look at her, his eyes steady, and a small twist to his lips. "This."

She smiled. "Me too. Except…"

"Except?"

"There's a kiss involved." She said uncertainly.

Then his eyes lowered, that stern mask coming back into position. Hermione's heart broke for a second, but then he spoke quietly. "You don't want that from me, Hermione."

"Want what?"

"You know… A relationship?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm fairly certain I'm old enough to make up my own mind about what I want, thanks."

Draco shook his head. "You don't get it… I'm not good for you."

Her anger dissipated, and was replaced by a brief sadness. "Draco…" She murmured, then had a better idea, and crawled on top of him to straddle his lap.

Despite his dejected mood, his hands came up to rest on her waist, and he said, "I… I don't want to hurt you. Ever."

Hermione stroked his face, placing her hands on either side of his jaw. "Draco. Look at me." He did, his grey eyes locked onto hers, and beneath his self doubt she saw that flicker of affection. "Of course that's what will happen if you don't even try. Let me decide for myself whether you're any good for me or not. Until then, stop moping and kiss me."

He was clearly surprised for a few seconds, but then he complied, and his lips were soft and oh, so sweet. They kissed and they kissed some more, and it tasted like pizza but it was so perfect, they couldn't stop. Their tongues danced together, and teeth gnashed against teeth, and Hermione knew from that moment, that she would be forever addicted to his sweetness.

* * *

**TBC...**

**Thank you so much to everyone who leaves amazing comments, it means a great deal to me and I'm so glad so many people have favourited and followed this story! :) xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay so here it is, looks like I'll be continuing this story. Dunno how many chapters there'll be, I'll just see where it goes. **

**Thanks so much to anyone who reviewed and urged me to continue, hope you enjoy the update!**

* * *

"Mum, please listen—"

"Honey, it's for your own good. Your father and I have already discussed it and—"

"But I don't want—"

"—It's what's best for your education. You need to look at the bigger picture, Hermione."

"You don't understand, it's fine, I'm fine, everything's fine. I don't want to leave, I love Diagon High, I really do - it- it's great." Hermione crossed her arms firmly, her tongue heavy with her lie. She looked towards her father expectantly, as if he would swoop in and save her from her mother's pestering, like he normally did. However, this time his face just looked grim, leaning against the kitchen bench with tired lines peeking out from beneath his glasses frame.

"It's for the best, dear." He said, giving her a tight smile, as if it pained him to do something he knew his daughter wholeheartedly disagreed with.

Her father's agreement turned her frustration into betrayal, and she rapidly blinked to stop unwanted tears as her eyes began to sting. "Fine." She bit out, storming from the kitchen before she did something uncalled for, like fling a cooking pot at the roast dinner her mum was preparing.

She rushed for the staircase, pausing to cast a longing gaze into the living room, at the couch where, less than twenty-four hours ago, she'd been making out with a boy named Draco. She ached to go back to that moment, when she didn't have to think about annoyingly important things like high school, friends and fitting in — She raced up the last step and banged her bedroom door closed.

Launching herself onto the softness of her bed, she let out an angry growl, muffling the sound in the depth of her pillows. Why did parents have to be so infuriating? Why did they have to butt in where they weren't wanted? The rational part of her mind gave her a gentle reminder that they wouldn't be parents if they didn't do those things, but Hermione shoved the thought away.

She was doing just fine at Diagon High. She'd studied there since the very beginning of her secondary education. She did well on all of her assignments, she completed all her homework on time, she kept to herself during break times, her nose buried in the black lines of her favourite stories. She didn't need the distraction of other people, she didn't need anyone to be the downfall of her grades, and she most certainly did not need anyone, let alone her parents, to tell her she was_ lonely._

Sure, she talked to some people during school, but she always preferred her own company. She'd spent six years trying to convince herself this, as opposed to acknowledging her favouritism of books came from their truth, and the fact they didn't turn around and laugh in her face, jeering, "Fooled you! Who would ever want to be _your_ friend?"

Hermione scowled into her pillow, her thoughts flooding to memories of a girl with dark hair and a pretty face, a girl who was much prettier than Hermione, a girl who had no problem in declaring so. They'd met at the start of high school, when they were both fourteen, the beginnings of youthful decisions and identity shapers fresh in their young lives. Hermione had been stunned that such a pretty, popular girl would want to be her friend, let alone that such a friend would invite Hermione over to her house. The girl's family was rich, and her mother wore expensive jewellery, her father boring, yet pricey suits, and her house was _huge._ Together, the two girls had shared secrets, passed stories between them until the early hours of dawn. Hermione had liked her a lot, she was smart and enjoyed reading books too, and they'd yabbered on for hours about their favourite heroes and heroines.

They'd been best friends for a year before an unnameable boy came along, a boy who Hermione had crushed on but now couldn't even remember what he looked like. It was needless to dwell on the memories of how her friend had ended up fancying the same boy, and the two had split over it after weeks of tedious tiffs. Then one day, Hermione had been eating her lunch in a solitary corner of the cafe, when her friend-turned-enemy walked up and apologised with a face full of pity, telling her, "It's stupid really, fighting over a _guy. _I'm over him, anyway. You should ask him out."

So, Hermione did. She blushed thinking over how stupid she'd been when she was younger, although, being only seventeen now, she was still _quite_ young, as much as she liked to think otherwise. The boy had balked at the loner-bookworm-girl asking him to join her for a study session, and since then Hermione had retreated from the very idea of being romantically involved with a male.

Then again, not _every_ male was included in that category. Her blush intensified, and she tried very hard not to focus on the faint, lingering smell of Draco on her bedcovers.

Hermione turned her head, her eyes drawn to the hues cast by the setting sun, filtering in through her open window. The boy's rejection in eighth grade was nothing to her best friend's betrayal. Yes, Hermione was quick to get over a silly male who obviously didn't desire her attention, but what she was not ready for was the rapidly following rumour of a certain black haired girl snogging the very same boy.

Hermione shoved the memory out of her head, turning onto her back and gazing up at the uninteresting ceiling. Her anger at her parents had almost gone, and instead she was left with a strange sense of calm, almost boredom, so naturally she couldn't help her thoughts from drifting back to Draco.

Her first kiss, the first warm embrace of a boy who wasn't a relative, and he'd been so close to being her first of _other _things too. Her belly started to fill with a prickling heat as she recalled the feeling of his fingers on her skin, stroking and rubbing.

Her own hand started to creep downwards, but was abruptly pulled back at the sound of a tentative knock at her door.

Hermione cleared her throat, sitting up and grabbing a pillow for something to busy her hands with. "Yes?"

Her door creaked open, and her dad's bespectacled look of worry greeted her from a narrow gap in the doorway. "Hermione, can I come in?"

"Sure."

He opened the door all the way, then lingered with uncertainty over whether or not he should close it behind him. Hermione raised her eyebrow, and her dad returned her quizzical look and threw a knowing expression over his shoulder. "Your mother—"

"Dad, it's fine, she won't hear… unless you have something super secretive that—"

He laughed, running a hand through his short hair and then edged the door close, coming to sit next to his daughter.

Hermione's sudden lightheartedness turned to disappointment when her dad sighed, rubbing his palms over his jeans. She watched as he adjusted his glasses, his telltale signs of fidgeting which she knew meant he was avoiding the point.

"Dad." She urged.

Another sigh. "'Mione, look—"

"I know, you agree with her. I get it." She didn't get it at all.

"I wasn't sure at first, but- but it's a great place, dear. Your mother and I visited on our way home this morning, the principle was lovely, a little eccentric though but very welcoming. The teachers seem to know what they're doing, the kids are all well behaved—"

"Are you sure you _just_ visited?"

"The uniform is very smart, in fact, ugh—"

"Let me guess, you ordered me one already?"

"Hermione, Saint Merlins is going to be really good for you."

She cast him a hurt look, turning back to her window with a sulky expression.

"I guess there's no real point for me to tell you to think it over?" Her dad asked softly.

Hermione snorted. "Don't have much choice, do I?"

There was a pause, then what she'd been dreading, "Hermione… it was very hard, for Jean and I, to… to find out about the bullying—" A muffled growl came from behind a pillow "—I know it must be embarrassing, but—"

"Dad! There was no bullying, okay? There was nothing, there was just me, and schoolwork!"

"That's the point, honey. Transferring to St. Merlins will be a fresh start, it'll mean new friends—"

"I'm not so sure 'bout that," Hermione mumbled.

"Hermione, don't be so morbid! You're a wonderful young woman, you're smart, intelligent—"

"That's the whole problem, dad! Ugh, just never mind, okay? I think I hear mum calling, dinner must be ready."

Her father stood, looking at her sadly. "Have a think, dear. I'm sure you'll understand in the morning."

"Alright." She said it to end the conversation, rather than to agree she'd actually thinking about it. Besides, she already knew why it was a good idea, as her dad said himself, she wasn't stupid. She just had a bad feeling that no matter what school she went to, other people just wouldn't tolerate her bookishness.

* * *

Dinner was a sullen affair over roast beef and Hermione's least favourite brand of orange juice. She chewed her food angrily, keeping her eyes on her plate, and gave short, one word answers whenever her mother spoke to her. She loved her mother, she really did, but right now she couldn't bare to look at her.

Hermione did the dishes without needing to be told, and then headed straight up to her room with a forced, quiet "goodnight."

She collapsed onto her bed, flinging a hand across her eyes. She had no choice in this, and dare she admit it, she knew it was what was best, what needed to be done, and a very tiny, subdued part of her was a little excited. It was her pride which stopped her from telling this to her parents. Being annoyed was easier than admitting she was wrong, so she'd stick to it like glue.

Her thoughts dragged her back to that morning, when her parents had phoned and told her they'd be home early, with a surprise for her. Hermione had panicked, knowing there was still a half dressed and groggy Draco sprawled in her bed upstairs, and had immediately rushed up to wake him.

"Wazzit?" He'd mumbled, and Hermione had wanted to smother him in kisses, but her haste restrained her, and without many words she watched him chuck his shirt on and then the two had made their way downstairs.

He'd stopped at the door, turned back to her with a funny look on his face. His hand had come up to stroke her cheek, his elegant fingers brushing away her sleep-mussed hair.

She'd wanted to ask him for his phone number, she'd wanted to know when they'd see each other again, she'd also wanted to know why he'd refused to make love to her fully, and most of all she wanted one last kiss. She wanted so many things, but all she got was the soft press of his lips on her forehead and a departing salute as he waved to her at the gate.

She'd watched his retreating back with a smile, and an ache in her chest that demanded she do nothing more than run after him and be in his arms again.

Now lying by herself in the semi-darkness of dusk, she would do just about anything to have Draco with her again. They'd had such little time together, yet it seemed so perfect, so _right_. But then it was broken, by her parents no less, and she could do nothing but sleep and then wait eagerly by her window at the first sight of the rising sun.

Last night was a dream full of pizza, cuddles, and the passing of facts which now seemed so silly Hermione wished she had talked about important things, rather than trifling topics like favourite colours.

She sighed into her hand, turning over and snuggling up to her pillows, desperately trying to catch any of that sweet, heady masculine smell, which she had so fallen in love with.

* * *

The next morning Draco didn't come. It was the other black haired paperboy, and the sight of him withered Hermione's heart.

* * *

It had been two weeks since Hermione had spent the best night of her life with Draco, and not once since then had he delivered her family's morning newspaper. The smell of him had disappeared from her pillow after the fourth day, and now when she went to bed each night it was as if he'd never been there to begin with, never shared her passion, or touched her in ways no one else ever had.

Some nights she'd lie there feeling a perfectly justified, yet unreasonable irritation towards him until it'd make her head throb and she'd fall asleep. Other times she'd let her brief yet detailed memories of him flood through her body until her nipples were hard and her knickers were soaked. Then she'd touch herself thinking of his long, pale fingers, and go to sleep with his sly smirk etched into the backs of her eyelids.

* * *

It was the last day of the summer holidays, now three weeks since she'd kissed Draco, and tomorrow Hermione would have her first day at Saint Merlins.

After several more days of ignoring her parents attempts at kindness, and several thorough research sessions on the private school, Hermione had grudgingly apologised to them, saying she too thought it was a good move, and that she couldn't wait to begin this new part of her life. It was the truth, but that didn't stop her from being terribly overcome by nerves.

Joining a class where everyone already knew each other, where friendship groups had already been formed, where most students probably knew each other from their earlier years at the school, was very frightening.

Her first day would be either make or break, a thought which made Hermione's fingers shake while she mindlessly swirled her spoon around in her morning cereal.

* * *

Across the suburbs, in a stuffy room which smelled like stale smoke and sex, Draco Malfoy clutched a fist to the fresh bruise on his jaw.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco slumped onto his bed and kicked his shoes off, growling when one caught around his heel. He yanked the laces viciously, and after freeing his foot he launched the offensive shoe across the room with a venomous curse. There was a loud clattering as it joined several long forgotten objects which had found their way behind a broken wardrobe. Draco didn't care though, he only clenched his fists in an effort to restrain himself from punching new holes in the wall.

His bedroom walls were an ugly duck egg blue, with copious missing plaster chunks due to his own unconfined temper, and were void of any decorations apart from a very faded and tattered soccer poster which clung lamely to the back of his door.

It was a room which Draco liked to escape from as often as he could, a room in which, seventeen years ago, his mother had painted with a glowing smile and a heart full of love for a child who hadn't even been born.

Something in his chest tensed painfully and without a second thought he rushed to his feet and sent his knuckles into an untouched expanse of plaster. The loud crunch was immensely satisfying, yet the red ache that spread across the tops of his fingers was quite the opposite.

Draco's breath was still coming in loud bursts of rage when his father's icy, wavering voice echoed from downstairs. "What the _fuck_ are you doing up there, boy!?"

Draco wondered why the man hadn't been bothered by the noises the shoe caused, and then stormed towards his door and slammed it shut with a bang.

He could only suppose he was lucky that his father was near passed out on the couch with a half empty bottle of grog in his hand, otherwise he'd have all hell to pay. That didn't matter though, Draco was used to it. The faded bruises across his back were proof of that.

He moved to the wardrobe with calmer breath, opening the creaky doors and shrugging on a jacket. Then with a grudging sigh he began to look for the thrown shoe. Anything was better than staying in this shit hole.

* * *

The splintered park bench was uncomfortable to sit on, but Draco was glad of the distraction. His elbows were on his knees, his head in his hands, and he didn't look up until he heard the familiar, light tread of approaching footsteps.

"Draco." The voice was low, calm, with that annoying deepness that Draco sometimes envied. He glanced up into the nonchalant face of Theodore Nott, the slight wind throwing his hair around his face.

"Theo."

His friend fell carelessly onto the bench next to him, tactfully refraining from insensitive comments, and for a moment they shared companionable silence. "I got your message…"

"Always the tone of disapproval, and yet here you are." Draco eyed him with thought, he could never truly pinpoint Theo's intentions, the guy was far too aloof.

"My dad can't get involved, Draco. You know that. How do you think his business would fair if it were to get out that he was hiding a fugitive in one of his hotels?"

Draco scowled, his shoulders deflating. Theo peered at him from the corners of his sky-like eyes.

"I—"

"I think you're not being rational about this, mate. There's only a year and a half left of school, then you're legally free to bugger off to wherever the hell you want—"

"Fuck school."

Theo's expression turned to irritation, and Draco could tell he'd pissed off his scholarly friend by the way his mouth twitched. He didn't apologise.

"What about relatives? Don't you have any that would take you?" Theo asked in a clipped tone, turning his head to stare into the deserted park.

Draco squashed a weed with the heel of his shoe, glaring into the dirt. "Yeah, an aunt in a fucking psych ward maybe, and a cousin who wouldn't give two shits…" He trailed off, and there was more quiet.

"What about the girl?"

Draco's head whipped around, "What?"

"Last time, you said you met a girl," his friend prompted.

Realisation dawned in Draco's mind. He had mentioned Hermione to Theo, but only briefly. She was _his_ secret, his own flicker of light that he could take out and marvel at when he was alone. "So?"

"Well, why not ask her?" Theo was actually serious. Draco looked at him as if he'd just said he was the easter bunny.

"Yeah, you're right. 'Hey, Hermione, I know we've only met once, but would you mind letting me stay at your house? It's just that my father's a fucking drunk psychopath and if you say no, that's okay, because I'll just run away anyway.' Huh, bloody brilliant, right?" He ended with a snort, but it didn't erase the bitterness in his mouth.

Theo's gaze was steadily searching his face, his eyes almost sad, and dare he admit it, but Draco swore he could see _pity_. He squirmed, rubbing his still-sore knuckles.

"Never mind, okay? Forget I said anything. You're right, school is important."

Silence was something which came naturally when one was friends with Theo Nott, so it was no surprise when the two fell into a lapse filled with nothing but the rustling of leaves and the metal chains of a swing screeching in the breeze.

Draco wished it were as easy as asking a friend to stay for a while. However, if that were a possibility, he and Theo would have been rooming already, but there was no way he could ask his mate who lived in a squashy apartment with his divorced mother to shelter him.

Draco sighed into the darkening air, and then felt Theo's hand clap his shoulder. "Things'll be right, Draco, your dad just needs… company."

"Company? Are you mental? The bastard drinks himself to sleep every night, and you reckon all he wants is company?"

"You may forget it at times, but he lost someone important too—"

"_He's_ the fucking reason she's dead!" Draco's pained voice rang out into the trees, and a couple of birds flew from their nests.

Theo, always the composed one, said softly, "You don't know that."

"I know enough," Draco growled, getting to his feet. He didn't look back as he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and walked away, but he heard his friend's voice follow him.

"See you at school, Draco. Try not to get detention first day back, hey?"

Draco grunted in response, and without a word, left Theo sitting by himself in the park.

* * *

When Draco returned home that night, his father was well and truly unconscious, his hand dangling off the couch above a pile of shattered glass. His son walked straight past him and up the dust coated staircase, and didn't stop until he was safely behind his closed door.

He slumped back against the wood and squeezed his eyes closed, willing for a distraction. The idea came to him as he reached for his phone, and typed out a quick text before eagerly pressing send.

Pansy Parkinson arrived half an hour later, her eyes tired and her dark eyebrows raised. Draco opened the door for her with a near empty bottle of his father's whiskey in his hand.

"It's one o'clock in the fucking morning, Draco, what—"

He cut her off by dragging her in, shutting the door as quietly as his foggy mind could manage. Then he shoved her against the wall, his breath hot and his hands fumbling.

"You're drunk," she stated.

"And?"

"You obviously called me here for a reason."

"Smart, Parkinson," and then his lips were on her neck, rough and biting, and she made a sound which was stuck in-between annoyance and arousal.

"Fine," she whispered, "but quickly— I have to babysit early tomorrow— ugh," he shoved her against the door, attacking her neck with his alcoholic breath.

They stumbled up to his bedroom, their hands everywhere, on each other, the banisters, and by the time Draco's bedroom door closed behind them they were already topless.

Draco tried to focus on the girl in front of him, on her bright eyes and her willingness to sleep with him, but all he could see was the halo around white skin in the dark room, the fuzziness of his vision as he tried to trace his hands down her thin figure.

For a moment, the image of honey eyes and brown hair skimmed across his mind, and when he touched Pansy he was exceedingly gentle for a drunk man. Then he realised who he was, where he was, and what he was doing, and his nails dug into the taut skin atop a slender waist, turning her around and pulling her skirt and knickers down.

His arms shook as he unbuckled his jeans, his fingers nicking into the metal of the zipper, and then with a hiss he was inside her.

It wasn't love, it was primal instinct, two teenagers who used one another for sexual release. Pansy's moans were short and repetitive, and Draco grunted with the force of his thrusts. He climaxed first, his come hot and sticky as it splashed over her lower back, and Hermione's name on the tip of his tongue.

If Pansy heard, she didn't say anything. Draco was going to tell her to leave, that he wanted to be alone now, but the words didn't come, and before he had the chance she'd grabbed his wrist, dragging it to her front and guiding his fingers to the top of her clit. "Bastard," she grumbled.

He complied, either because he wouldn't let his pride be hurt by leaving a female on the brink of her pleasure, or because he was too tired to argue.

She came and she left, picking up her clothes and looking at him over her shoulder. "…See you 'round."

Draco heaved himself onto his bed, and sleep overcame him like a shadowy blanket.

* * *

The next morning found Draco standing across the street from a brick house with a tall hedge and a quaint white gate. His cap was drawn over his face, shielding his fringe and his watchful eyes from view. The early fog had only just lifted, and if anyone saw him, Draco supposed he would look quite suspicious, standing alone at a bus stop, waiting for a bus that wouldn't come.

He watched as his replacement paperboy rode past, the hill causing him to sweat with his effort, and Draco wanted to swear at him and throw rocks at his tires. But then he was gone, and Draco was left gazing up at an empty window and drawn curtains.

Hermione had evidently stopped waiting for him, which was something that made his core want to harden into a cold ball of steel. It was his own fault, he supposed. He was the one who'd made sure she didn't know the things about him that no one could possibly want to know. He'd made sure that she would never be able to contact him again. He'd quit his own job, a job that took him away from the home he hated and gave him money to spend on stupid shit he didn't need.

The only thing he thought he needed, wanted to need, was across the street, asleep in a warm bed, all thoughts of him most likely gone from her head. That was what he'd wanted, to push her away. He'd indulged in one night of pure bliss, but that was enough, he didn't want to hurt any more people, not the ones he held important, not like his mother.

He'd been the one to give up on Hermione, so why did it hurt _so_ damn much?

* * *

The door clicked closed behind him a little too loudly, a sound which snapped his father awake, if the painful groans from the living room were anything to go by. Draco knew how aggressive the bastard could be when he'd passed out from drinking the previous night, not to mention he never had been a morning person to begin with, and the death of his wife had induced an apparently chronic hangover.

Draco trod silently through the kitchen, the rubber soles of his shoes making near to no noise on the linoleum, if he could only get past the adjoining doorway, past the room where a cranky beast grumbled to the morning light, he would be safe.

Draco had always considered himself to be a particularly unlucky person, so it came as no surprise when the grey face and red rimmed eyes belonging to Lucius Malfoy appeared over his right shoulder a moment later.

His father stepped into the kitchen, his teeth bared and his nose scrunched. "And just what have you been doing, out so early in the morning?" Draco turned his face to the floor, ready to shove past the obstruction and shut himself away for the day. A hand grabbed his shoulder as soon as he made to move. "Answer me, boy!"

Draco glared at Lucius, hoping to convey every ounce of hate he felt through the dead frostiness of his eyes. "Nowhere."

There was a pause, the downturn of his father's lips, and then a sharp hand sent brutally into his midriff, and a fist into the side of his face.

Draco willed himself not to bend with the sudden pain, he forced his spine to stay straight, and for his face to stay frozen in a mask of indifference.

"_Liar,_" Lucius seethed, "you'd do well to tell the truth next time," and then he was gone, disappearing down the hallway and behind the last bedroom door.

Draco clenched his jaw, barely noticing the new pain due to his resilience to remain calm, and made his way slowly upstairs. His stomach felt winded, his throat struggling to bring up enough air. Only one more day of this, and then school would start. _School._ Another kind of hell. At least it was a hell away from the demon he was forced to live with. He could coincide almost naturally with his father when he was away nearly all day for his education. That is, if it could be called 'natural' to never speak a word to one's parent unless it was in the defence of an attack.

One last day, and then things would get better…


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi everyone! This may sound silly but I've reached my goal for this story, of 50 subs and 50 favourites - now I'm hoping for 100! I'm so happy - thanks so much to all of you who want to read my writing! I'd love to hear your thoughts so far, your comments really motivate me to do my best! Hope you enjoy~**

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything~~~**

* * *

Hermione tilted her head back, turning around slowly in an attempt to get a good look at her new school uniform. It fit her well, although the crisp white button up shirt was a little too tight for her liking, and she found herself tugging at it as she got ready, as if she could stop it from clinging so snugly to her chest.

The grey and black plaid fabric of her pleated school skirt was at quite a decent length in Hermione's opinion, falling just above her knees. She doubted she could say the same for half of the other girls in the school. Its modest length combined with her near knee high socks gave Hermione at least a small level of comfort as, after all, this was her first time in such a fancy uniform.

She fiddled with her hair for an unnecessary amount of time in the mirror, caught in the dilemma of wearing it up or down. Her flyaway strands were simply too voluptuous to be left to drape over her shoulders, and she thought it safer to try and look as normal as possible on her first day. So she opted for a thin blue ribbon she found at the back of her dresser, and tied it in a low ponytail.

Hermione hardly tasted her breakfast of jam on toast and a chugged glass of milk, she'd wasted too much of her morning fussing and she only had ten minutes to brush her teeth and grab her bag before her bus was due. She hated being so unorganised, it was very unlike her, but she would not let herself stop to think about why this was, or how she had lingered around her bedroom window that morning in hopes of easing her nerves at the sight of Draco, something she'd promised herself she wouldn't do again. She'd been going so well the past few weeks.

She flung her toothbrush down, reached for her bag, which was stuffed to the seams full of the required textbooks, and rushed out the door, barely sparing a breathless 'goodbye' over her shoulder for her parents.

* * *

By the time she stepped off the bus, her shoulder already aching from the weight of her bag, she was itching with nerves. Her neck felt hot and stuffy beneath the constricting school tie, and her tummy was roiling as if she'd swallowed a hundred pebbles and they were all trying to escape.

She crossed the road after waiting for the passing cars, and followed the dozens of students already milling into the looming set of open gates for the start of the new term. Hermione watched them, their drooping shoulders with evident nonchalance, some texting away on their phones with nimble fingers, others chatting happily with the person beside them.

Hermione swallowed, taking a deep breath and urging the numbness in her legs to go away. The anxious thumping in her chest mingled with the sudden tolling of a bell, which she located at the top of a tall white tower, nestled behind the rest of the buildings and protruding skywards.

Crap, due to her inconsolable nerves that morning, she'd forgotten to take one last look at her timetable. Hermione was the sort of person who liked plans and facts, and even though she knew she had homeroom class first, she couldn't remember the room number. So naturally she fell into a state of panic, her hand delving into her bag to try and grab the slip of paper which was creased with the evidence of nearly a hundred viewings.

The inside of her bag was chaos, and she had to jostle several books to the side before her thumb came into harsh contact with the broken plastic of a pen, and she jerked and recoiled. Damn pen, the weight of the books must have crushed it, just like they were slowly squashing Hermione's soul. She reached in again, but someone equally rushed as her bumped into her in their haste to get to class, and Hermione nearly tripped on an uneven brick in the path, sending half the contents of her bag to the floor.

Hermione moaned, her morning couldn't have gone any worse, and dropped to her knees to start shoving her belongings away.

She let out a noise of surprise as a pair of legs in tailored trousers bent to join her, and a masculine hand cuffed in the school's navy blazer reached and held out one of her books. Hermione looked up as she took it, a genuine smile on her lips. "Thanks."

The boy who knelt opposite her was undeniably handsome, with a casual sort of carelessness to him. His waves of mousy hair fell across his forehead as he passed over her pencil case. The zip was broken, which would explain the escaped and lethal pen.

"No problem," he said, "in a rush, were you?" His gaze was pale blue as he watched her questioningly, and she unconsciously decided he had rather nice eyes.

"Yes— well, I still am. Actually—" She nearly tore her timetable as she flipped it open, "would you mind telling me where this building is?" Her pointer finger sat beneath her room number, and she looked up at the boy to notice a slight tug at the corner of his mouth.

"No need, that's my homeroom too. Come on."

They both stood, Hermione brushing non existent dirt from her skirt, and followed after her long-legged guide.

There was a stagnant silence as they entered quite a large foyer with beamed ceilings, and passed through into one of the now emptying corridors. Hermione found herself inclined to make small talk, but when she turned her head up to peer at her companion through the corners of her eyes, she couldn't bring herself to disturb the peace she saw there.

It was odd, the way he looked as if there were a million different thoughts flowing in an intangible mess in his mind, his eyes unfocused in front of him, and his lanky figure moving as if on auto-pilot. Hermione was almost captivated, until he too turned to look at her, and spoke softly, "You're new."

It wasn't a question, but a statement, and Hermione hoped she hadn't looked too lost and obvious as she'd scrambled for her books on the pavement. It was either that, or this particular guy was just observant.

"Um, yeah. That obvious, huh?"

"No," he hummed, "You're in my homeroom class, and seeing as I haven't seen you before—"

"Right," she felt like an idiot, "well, yeah. I'm a transfer."

He nodded thoughtfully for a moment, then stopped and gestured to the door on his left. "Here we are."

Hermione tried to give him another thankful smile, yet probably only managed an ugly grimace, her embarrassment at being late doubling her anxiety. The tall boy knocked tentatively, and Hermione held her breath as the door was pulled open from the other side.

"Ah—" began a booming, rather jovial voice, "Theo! Didn' think yer'd be away first day back, very unlike you, eh? Here yer are though— an' who's this?" Hermione felt herself flush as the entire classes' attention was brought to her lateness. Thankfully, she didn't have to answer.

"The transfer student, sir. Sorry we're late, I helped her find her way." Her helper, which she now knew to be Theo, replied lowly and steadily, and Hermione found his voice quite calming, particularly in her embarrassment.

"No' a problem, no' a problem," the very tall, stocky and bearded homeroom teacher said, "Jus' take a seat— up tha back there now shul' be good— uh—"

"Hermione." Her voice wavered a little, and she had to stop herself from looking at her feet, and instead craned her neck up to see the very friendly, warm face of her teacher.

"'Ermione. Name's Hagrid— Rubeus Hagrid— But 'sir's good too." He looked a little flushed at the title, but proud too, and smiled broadly beneath copious amounts of facial hair.

"Thank you, Hagrid Sir." Hermione found herself able to return the smile, albeit a little timidly, and followed behind Theo's tall figure as he wound his way between the desks.

Theo took a seat next to two chubby, angry boys who looked as if they'd make very aggro and unrelenting soccer players, and the expanse of space where his back had been shielding her, now exposed her to the various faces glancing up at her curiously.

She tried to ignore their attention, and caught sight of the only empty desk, a seat in the second last row that sat before a desk which was occupied by a pale faced boy, a pale face which was half hidden beneath white blonde hair, a face whose eyes regarded her with barely disguised shock. Grey eyes which she remembered with red cheeks and a tingling belly, grey eyes which had once looked at her with blatant warmth but were now wide with both wonder and fear. Grey eyes which she'd dreamed about with longing.

Hermione desperately tried to slow her breathing, straightened her face into a blank mask, and took her seat in front of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

It was possibly the worst half an hour in Hermione's entire life. She was sitting in her seat, cooking like an over boiled egg, and she could practically feel _his_ eyes as they dug into the back of her skull. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on what Hagrid was saying about exams and holidays and pointless things about school. Because that was what school was, unimportant, dull, unnecessary, when one had Draco Malfoy staring holes into one's body.

Hermione was fidgeting with repressed questions. If only she could turn around and demand him to tell her where he'd been the past three weeks, why he had just walked in and out of her life as if it was one of the most boring and unsavoury things he could ever do? It was only now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a high-ceilinged class room filled with twenty or more nosy students, that Hermione realised just how angry she'd been with the blonde boy.

Part of her wanted to get to her feet and announce to the world what a prat he'd been, and then maybe whack him in the head, while the other half of her wanted to drag him off to a deserted hallway and snog him senseless. She was supposed to be annoyed with him, but her hormones were irritatingly persistent in teasing her, and if she had a clear head, void of Draco Malfoys, never would she for a single moment think of school as something unimportant.

Maybe if she bashed her head against the window next to her she'd be able to concentrate better, maybe then the memories of the best night of her life would evaporate and be nothing but condensed breath upon the window panes.

It was at that moment when she caught the end of one of Hagrid's sentences, "'kay, well tha's abou' it fer now. Yer can all talk 'mongst yer' selves fer tha last ten mins' or so."

Chatter filled the room as soon as Hagrid finished speaking and began to sort stacks of paper on his desk. It was then when the girl sitting in front of Hermione turned around and gave her a repugnant look, a look which looked quite nasty on such a dainty face.

Hermione felt her face go red and her brain reel as she thought about what she could have done to deserve such a withering look, but then the same girl spoke, her short black hair bouncing. "Hermione?" Her tone was scathing, and it made Hermione hesitate.

"Uh— yeah?"

"As in, Hermione Granger?"

"Yes—"

"You seriously don't remember me?"

"Um…" Hermione paused, her eyes taking in the face in front of her, the dark hair, the eyes sparkling with mischief, the small upturned nose. In her head she conjured all the memories of sleepovers, laughter and giggles. Then came the betrayal, and the need to keep her lips firmly clamped. "P-Pansy?"

The girl grinned, her carefully plucked eyebrows rising in affirmation. "Yep."

Hermione swallowed. "Hi. Long time no see."

Pansy was about to reply, but was torn away by something the boy next to her said, and the two immediately launched into an unrelenting dialogue of bickering.

Hermione sighed in relief, glad for Pansy's short attention span, as that would have been a conversation Hermione would be quite happy to ignore. There was a tiny pull in her chest that demanded she turn around and say something to Draco, but she strongly resisted it, instead looking to the two boys on her right, one dark haired and the other ginger, who were scribbling something to each other in a notebook.

The red head who was closer, in the seat next to her, caught her staring and scowled. "What?" He snapped. The scrawnier, shaggy haired one peered around his shoulder, his eyes a bright green behind his glasses.

"Don't be rude, Ron," He said, but still closed the notebook and deftly placed his elbow over it.

"Sorry," Ron murmured, looking to his friend with an accusation turning down his wide mouth.

Hermione had nothing to say, as she really didn't mean to stare, but was once again saved as a very familiar voice carried over her shoulder, only the tone was different, it contained something she hadn't heard in it, like a bored drawl.

"Oi, Potter, you better keep your weasel on a leash, or he'll start biting." Draco was met with the guffawing laughter of the two big set boys, looking oversized at their tiny desks, who were separating Draco from Theo.

The latter boy had a disapproving look, and caught Hermione's eyes over the back of her shoulder. She snapped her vision back to her hands before she had the desire to turn even further and meet the owner of her favourite voice.

Hermione noticed Ron had turned the colour of a beetroot, and watched as his messy haired friend, 'Potter,' seethed over his shoulder, "Watch it, Malfoy."

"I'm not the one who should be watching. That's your job, Potter." Draco snorted at his own joke, and Hermione heard what sounded like material scuff wood and she imagined him moving his arms over the desk and crossing them over his chest. She would _not_ look at him.

There were too many conversations going on in the room, each battling to be heard over the next, for the teacher to take notice. So not many heads were turned as Potter sent his chair skidding back as he stood up with a huff.

"Harry— don't," Ron warned.

Hermione looked up at Harry and took in the way his eyes were ablaze, his lips pursed over clenched teeth. He looked ready to explode. Clearly he and Ron didn't get on with Draco, and Draco didn't sound too friendly to them either. This made something in her ribcage give a deep pang.

"'Harry, don't,'" Draco mocked, chuckling as the two large boys next to him egged him on, "listen to your boyfriend, Potter, he knows best—"

Harry made a rush at the desk behind Hermione, who found herself pressed into the window as the front of the class, including Hagrid, began clattering to their feet at the sound of the end-of-period bell and filed out the door, the back half too intent on the fight which they thought would break out.

At the same time as Ron grabbed hold of his friend's arm in an attempt to restrain Harry's rage, Hermione banged her fist down onto the desk, thoughts of splinters flitting across her mind, and pushed herself up.

"That's enough!" She yelled.

Her hands were on her hips before she could stop herself, and she stamped her foot for emphasis in the now quieting room. Her bushy ponytail swung against her back as she finally succumbed and turned to aim a glare at Draco. It was very hard, looking at the boy she'd thought of every night before she slept, narrowing her eyes into the hard steeliness of the gaze she'd desperately wanted to be the occupant of. It was hard, because she'd imagined the moment they'd meet again with great anticipation and excitement, and now here she was, her temper aflame, sending daggers into his forehead because it was impossible to meet his eyes.

The two back rows had been rendered still in their viewing, and Harry and Ron had almost tripped in surprise. Hermione knew her face was flushed, and her eyebrows were aching from an insistent frown, and here she was standing up like an idiot, without a clue as to what to say next. All she'd done was succeeded in shocking everybody into silence.

She was just about to say something probably equally as stupid as to how she felt, when there was a low rumble and the clearing of a throat in front of her, and she was forced to meet the very stony irritation of Draco.

"Oh look," His voice was velvety smooth, just like it'd been when he'd first arrived on her doorstep, but what came next was the polar opposite of the warm memory, and sent something sharp and cold into her heart, "Potter and Weasel have got themselves a bitch."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hope everyone enjoys the chapter - penny for your thoughts?**

* * *

The words were out, it was too late for guilt, even though that guilt was burning hot down the tunnel of his throat, clogging his airway as he took in the bewilderment, and then the plain hurt which dragged itself across Hermione's pretty face.

The room was filled with a pregnant pause, every face equally as hesitant and eager as the next, gazes flitting between Draco and Hermione. The sudden need for privacy arose in him like a dousing of cold water, and then came that small, muffled sniff. His eyes darted up to Hermione's, her once warm and honey gaze now burning with unshed tears. Then the first of them fell, tracing down the contours of her cheek, and it was a stab to his gut.

Draco slowly uncurled his arms from his chest, the awkwardness in the room weighing heavily over him, but not so heavy as to outweigh the lead in his stomach which came from the knowledge of inflicting harm upon the girl in front of him.

He needed to say something, anything, but then he realised he still hadn't removed the scowl from his features, or the glare set deep beneath his brows. That didn't matter though, because before he had time to relish in pushing her away, or sulk in worthless self pity, there was a flash of movement, and then a stinging pain tingling over the skin on his jaw.

The sound of her slap echoed through the quiet, and the ringing in Draco's left ear barely let him catch the string of the last sentence she spat at him before she dashed from the room.

_"__You're a filthy liar."_

* * *

Draco took a long drag of his cigarette, rejoicing in the calm that washed over him and the heat that warmed his throat. He exhaled into the crisp morning air, the smoke quickly disappearing into the overcast sky. It was barely past ten o'clock, and already Draco had had enough of school, although continually skiving off classes would be something which his father would no doubt be notified of.

Draco couldn't care less about math class though, which would explain why he was slouched over the railings atop the schools tower, the giant brass of the bell looming above his head and a criss crossing of old wooden staircases below him.

This was his place of solitude, the only place he could escape to where no body else would follow him. He retreated here when his head was crammed with too many thoughts, or when certain teachers pissed him off to near breaking point. He'd never been here so early in the morning though.

"_You're a filthy liar._"

Fuck. He'd never hated himself as much as he did right then. It was that bloody Potter and Weasel's fault. If only they hadn't baited him, but then again, their mere existence provoked him. _But that look in her eyes?_ Had it really been worth it?

He aimed a kick at the railings, the reverberations circling around the small landing and worsening his headache. He barely heard the sound of footsteps, or the soft clearing of a throat, but maybe that was because Theo was just so bloody quiet.

His friend leant next to him, his long arms dangling over the boundaries. Silence. Then, "Does your father know?"

Draco shot him a glare that would have torn shreds off anyone else, and then stubbed out his cigarette beneath his shoe, because the idea of smoking in front of a do-gooder bloke such as Theo, seemed a little off. "Know what?"

Shrug. "This."

Draco arched an eyebrow, then turned his eyes back down to the schoolyards below, his eyes caught on a particular shady courtyard, which in a different lifetime he would have liked to have lunch with Hermione in. "The smoking? No. He wouldn't give a shit."

Theo shook his head, his hair dancing into his deep set eyes. "Not the smoking. Hermione." He punctuated each syllable of her name, as if listening to what it tasted like, and then turned his head a fraction to give Draco an expectant look.

Damn Theo. Draco swallowed and frowned at his knuckles, taut and white beneath the skin. He wanted to tell his friend he hadn't a clue what he was talking about, but it was pretty hard to deny, everyone in the classroom had witnessed what had happened, heard what Hermione had said, and it was clear that they knew each other. Then there was a more dormant part of him that wanted to thump Theo around the head and tell him never to speak her name in such an intimate way again.

He settled for something in between, and came out with a raspy growl instead. "Why the hell would he know?"

Another bloody shrug. "It hurts you, what you said to her. I just thought you must be close—"

"Well you're wrong. I—"

"She's the girl. The one you met."

Draco's teeth dug into his lip, he'd rather not say anything than admit someone as all-knowing as Theo was right.

Theo took more than Draco offered from his defiant silence, and hummed in thought as he looked up to watch a passing bird.

Draco could practically hear the gears turning in the other boy's mind, and every second that passed just made him feel more and more like a boiling kettle.

"Fuck off."

Theo didn't look offended, not that Draco would care much if he was, he was too used to Draco's crude language by now. All Theo did was turn his body so his back leant against the railing, crossing his arms tightly against the high breeze, and tilted his chin to look at the giant bell, as if it were the abuser of the offensive words.

Draco didn't think Theo would say anything more, he hoped he wouldn't, because his head hurt and the way Theo was staring at the bell was starting to piss him off. He could do with another cigarette.

Draco's fingers were halfway to the back pocket of his trousers, just closing around the small box of sin, when he felt Theo move beside him.

Theo was halfway to the descending ladder when his voice carried over his shoulder, making Draco scowl at the little rolls of tobacco in his palm.

"You should take care of the things you treasure, Draco. Otherwise it'll be too late."

* * *

"—new girl, yeah, I heard. It's so terrible that someone would actually do such a—"

"Oh, god- I know right. You must have been heartbroken, Pansy?"

"The past is the past, right? Forgive and forget and all that shit— although the way she looked at me in homeroom— I thought she was going to slap me!"

"But instead she attacked poor Dra—"

Draco's fist came down sharply across his open notebook. The three girls sitting in the row in front of him, Pansy included, all turned to give him wary looks. "Your damn blabbing is giving me a headache."

The blonde girl, who Draco didn't care enough about to remember the name of, on the left of Pansy gave him a very sympathetic look, and Pansy pointed and gave him a frown. "Of course you have a headache, Drake. That bitch did hit you pretty hard."

Draco barely suppressed a growl, running a hand through his hair. "I don't give a—"

"Is it true, Pansy?" The blonde girl interrupted, and all three immediately resumed their pointless conversation, "Did that Granger bitch _really_ steal your boyfriend in the fourth grade? Millicent said—"

"_What?_" Draco couldn't contain himself, and he suspected that the distaste on his face was blatantly obvious.

The girl on Pansy's other side, Draco had snogged her once or twice in an empty classroom and knew her name to be something like Jenny or Penny, glared at him and said between bright red lips, "Really, don't boys ever listen?"

Draco didn't spare her a second glance, instead focusing on Pansy, "You know Herm— Granger?"

Pansy shook her head, her dark hair somehow remaining in its neat curls, and said in an annoyed tone, "Yes, Draco. We were good friends once."

"What—?"

"Honestly. Do you need your hearing checked —?" Her sentence was cut short as she spun in her seat, directing her eyes to the blackboard as the lab's door swung open and in walked their science professor.

Snape's black eyes met Draco's for an instant as he scanned his class, and then seemed to glide to the blackboard, his white lab coat billowing in a non-existent breeze, and began to scrawl the summary of the day's lesson.

"Today," came the teacher's very bored, monotoned drawl, "you shall be dissecting frogs. There shall be no messing around with innards, no flying frog-limbs across the classroom, unless you wish to find yourself in a week's worth of detentions. Sort yourselves into pairs, set up at a bench, and begin."

Draco was good at science, but the class and the teacher made him uncomfortable. He trained his gaze onto the blank lines in his notebook, knowing that if he looked up he would be met with the accusatory stare of the greasy haired man.

There was a loud bang as Snape slapped a metal tray of two dozen dead frogs onto the front bench, and then the preceding cacophony of every chair in the room being scraped back as the students got to their feet.

Much to Draco's chagrin, Pansy seemed to ditch her two friends to their own company, and made her way to the front of his desk, her arms crossed expectantly. Too bad Crabbe and Goyle had already partnered up, Draco really didn't want to put up with Pansy's clinginess today, or her obvious ineptitude at handling a scalpel when ever a dead animal was concerned. Although, he did want to hear what she had to say about Hermione, and whether it was really true that they'd known each other before hand. He gritted his teeth together when a tiny part of his mind told him he was jealous, jealous that someone had had the fortune of being on close terms with the only girl he really wanted, even if that person was a very annoying, talkative Pansy Parkinson. However, Draco knew better than to trust everything that sprouted out of Pansy's useful mouth, and understood that the tales she told should be taken with a grain of salt. He'd just have to turn a blind eye and take his anger out on the frog if she started to badmouth Hermione.

"Fine," he mumbled, standing up and grabbing two lab coats, handing one to Pansy and shrugging his own on.

There was a great deal of shrieks and "ew"s from the girls as they were forced to slice open the amphibians, and then Snape's enraged voice as he spoke over the clamour, "We will _not_ be using the bunsen burners this lesson, Mr Goyle."

Across the carcass of the frog, Pansy seemed even less inclined to talk about the one subject Draco was interested in.

"I'm free tonight," she said, her voice feigning an indifference which Draco could see through as clearly as glass.

He didn't say anything, his hand working deftly over the frog.

"Did you hear me?"

It was impossible not to. "Yes."

"Well?"

He bit the inside of his cheek, glaring at the basin when Snape's tall figure moved past them.

"I know it's her…" Her voice was quiet now, as if she feared the chattering class would have a hope of overhearing them.

Draco's head snapped up. "What?"

Pansy's blue eyes narrowed, and flickered with something Draco couldn't quite place, but then here face was a schooled blankness, the only sign of emotion a tight crease between her brows.

"The other night when— her name. You said her name." It was almost a whisper, yet Draco had the ears of a boy who listened through doors for the signs of a father who was only approachable when asleep.

His jaw clenched. "And?"

"And I'll come over tonight. Because if you say no, then— then things will be a lot worse for her than a couple of bad rumours."

The glare he shot her was pure venom. "Making threats, Parkinson?" Then realisation, "Rumours? What rumours?"

She shook her head a little sadly, "You really don't listen, do you Draco? You'll see."

Draco changed tactics, his brain swarming with all the possible meanings behind Pansy's words. "Fine, come tonight— just— just tell me something first."

"What?"

Draco's mouth opened, about to spill the question he was dying to have answered, but then Snape was looming over his shoulder, and Draco didn't have to see him to know that his lips were a downturned crescent of disappointment.

"Slacking off in class, Mr Malfoy? Is Miss Parkinson too distracting for you? See me after class."

Draco stabbed at the plastic cutting board, the knife sending a slight splattering of frog guts onto Pansy's coat. She shrieked, and he slumped his shoulders in the anticipation of a meeting he would do anything to avoid.

* * *

Then end of class came far too soon, and Draco packed his books into his bag with a fidgeting lump in his stomach.

Pansy gave him a look that said, "see you tonight or you're dead," before she exited the room, her two girlfriends flanking her sides.

The door shut behind the last student, and then it was just Snape and Draco, standing at opposite ends of the classroom, glaring at each other as if doing so would be the death of the other.

Draco slung his bag strap over his shoulder in the hopes of a quick escape, but then Snape was in front of him, a cold hand gripping his jaw while the other shoved the long strands of his hair back.

Draco hissed as the air hit the faded bruise he'd done his best at covering, and Snape's eyes widened a tiny fraction before dropping his hands and taking two steps back. His hollow cheeks seemed to quiver as he began, "Lucius—"

"I fell."

"Draco—"

"I _fell_."

"Do not patronise me! Your father—"

"It doesn't fucking matter, okay? Mind your own goddamn business—"

"My business is the welfare of my students, Draco. You must speak to the principle—"

Something inside of Draco snapped like a faulty match. "Your business is protecting the hide of your old friend, even though you know he's a right bastard who—"

"How _dare_—"

"Your business is fucking another bloke's wife—"

Draco broke off, his breathing hard and his face flushed. He knew he'd crossed a line that shouldn't be crossed, and so did Snape by the look on his pale, now flustered expression of outrage.

"Out."

"Severus— I—"

"OUT."

And Draco went, his hand gripping the strap of his bag so tightly he thought his knuckles might bleed. He didn't look back at the man he knew would be immobile in an empty classroom with a truth he'd always hoped to keep unsaid.

* * *

Draco kicked stones as he walked home, each one held the face of Potter or Weasley, but mainly his father, and he relished in the way his shoe made each one of them fly.

When he arrived home, his father was out. Draco collapsed against his bedroom door, downed half a bottle of whiskey, and when the hours turned dark he fucked Pansy on her hands and knees. If he couldn't see her, he could pretend. If he couldn't see her, it was like a simple escape for unwanted thoughts.

If he couldn't see her, it was easier to picture a dim lit room and two warm bodies on a couch, and his own quiet words as he whispered, _"I… I don't want to hurt you. Ever." _

He was a filthy liar, and this time, he made sure he didn't speak Hermione's name.


	6. Chapter 6

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Hermione rested her head against the window with a dejected sigh. She'd be quite content to just ride the bus around all night, maybe even go into the city and get lost for a while. Unfortunately, though, she had to go home and see her parents. "How was your first day?" They'd ask, and Hermione would have to reply through a tight lipped lie. "Fine," She'd say, and then hopefully they wouldn't bother her with anymore questions. Hopefully she'd be able to go up to her bedroom and scream into a cushion, punching it and pretending it was Draco Malfoy.

"_Potter and Weasel have got themselves a bitch_."

His words stung more than the wasp that had got her when she was eleven, ached more than her first period, yet still she couldn't help but feel guilty over the way she'd slapped him. _Slapped him_. Oh, gosh.

Her face flushed with the memory. "_You're a filthy liar." _He was a liar, he'd lied to her, and that was what hurt more than the words he probably didn't mean. She'd convinced herself of this, that he only said them for a very good reason that she didn't understand, because she couldn't for one second let herself believe he'd meant them. If she did, she might just break.

But she was Hermione Granger, and she would never let anyone, let alone a _boy_, break her down like that. No, Draco would pay. Hermione would make sure she got an apology by the end of the week, she would ensure he confessed the reason behind his malice, and them maybe they'd even fit in a kiss or two.

She smiled a little smugly to herself as more people cluttered onto the bus.

* * *

"Honey, wait— how was school?" Her mum stopped her as she tried to sneak past the kitchen.

"It was great—"

"Make any friends?" Her dad chimed in.

Hermione faltered, her mind racing back to the moment when she fled from homeroom. The two boys, Harry and Ron, had followed her shortly after. Ron had stuck his hand out in an awkward gesture of peace, his mouth quirked and a blush on his cheeks. "Ron Weasley. Er— Anyone who hits Draco Malfoy is a friend of ours."

Harry had grinned, albeit a little uncomfortably as he took in the distraught which had been visible on her face. He'd beamed at her and even given her a tentative pat on the arm that she'd suspected to be consonance.

Then Ron had cleared his throat, looked at her a little too appraisingly, and had said, "by the way— er— me and him," He'd pointed a finger at Harry, "we're— we're not b-boyfriends. That's just shit Parkinson likes to make up," and Hermione, utterly bewildered at the confession, had erupted into a strange fit of giggles, wiping the residue of tears away from her eyes.

"I suppose," She said now to her parents, "Yeah, I did."

Her mother's grin was more relief than happiness, but her father looked genuinely cheerful.

She thought of Theo, would he be considered a friend too? She'd taken the empty seat next to him in math class, and had thought they'd been getting on alright with offhand comments about the math questions before he'd left for the bathroom and didn't return.

Draco had been the biggest surprise of her day, but that was okay, she knew she could handle him. She just _had_ to. Because some irrational part of her told her she needed him, and even her logical side agreed that it'd been far too long since she'd tasted his sweetness.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione woke with an excited ticking in her gut. She dressed slowly, spreading her hands down the folds in her shirt and making sure her tie was in a loose knot, the top two buttons of her shirt open and gaping above it.

She stood for an awfully long time in front of her underwear drawer, internally arguing with herself over which pair of panties she should wear. She went with the best she owned, which still happened to be a plain pink, but had a lot more lace than all of the other pairs.

Then, after skimming them on, she carefully rolled the waistband of her skirt a few times, so that the hem was quite a good deal shorter than it had been yesterday.

Hermione hovered in front of the bathroom, wondering whether she should put on a little bit of light makeup, and after giving in with a groan, pampered her face with a grimace and hurried downstairs.

It was too early for her parents to be out of bed yet, so she grabbed a bread roll from the fridge and locked the front door behind her.

She felt like a tart, she probably looked a bit like one too. She had to frown at her school shoes for a moment. What was wrong with wearing makeup? Nothing. She hardly had any on anyway, and it was nothing compared to that blonde girl she'd seen stuck to Pansy's side like a leech. And what was wrong with wearing your uniform a little differently so as to get what you want? Nothing. She gave herself a small nod of agreement and then made her way to the bus stop.

* * *

There was still half an hour until the bell for the first class would ring, but Hermione was standing just behind the school gates, silently waiting. She had no idea if Draco was the sort of person to get to school a good deal early, or barely in the nick of time, but now after arriving and her doubts had settled in, she guessed he'd definitely be the latter type.

She was a tad confused at some of the dirty looks people threw her way as they mingled in past her, and she had just about had enough and was very close to asking a short girl with a face full of foundation what she was looking at, when Harry and Ron walked in.

Ron's eyes scanned her body from head to foot, then as if realising what he'd been doing, averted them to the ground with coloured cheeks. "Hey," he mumbled.

"Hi," said Harry, "You waiting for us?" He seemed quite taken by the idea, and Hermione, feeling a little guilty shook her head.

"I— I was waiting to ask Theo something about a math problem— he seemed really smart."

Ron, seemingly recovered, raised an eyebrow. "Aren't _you_ really smart Hermione? Your hand practically never left the air yesterday."

Hermione willed herself not to blush as she remembered each of the classes she'd taken with Harry and Ron yesterday; english, history and science. "Yes, but maths has always been my weak point."

"I don't blame you," grumbled Harry, "Well, anyway, see you later— we have art together this afternoon, right?"

"Oh, yes."

"Forewarning though, Malfoy's also in that class," Ron nearly turned green when he said it, his lips twisting as if he'd tasted something poisonous.

The name almost made her blush again. "Warning noted, see you guys later." She hoped it didn't sound too much like a dismissal, but then the two of them ambled away with waves of departure, and Hermione was once again left waiting.

At three minutes to nine, she checked her watch, as she'd been doing every five minutes, and was just about to give up with a sigh when a tall, blond figure caught her eye.

He came from the opposite direction to the one she'd been expecting, and the sight of him, his book bag over one shoulder and a casual slump on the other, almost made her knees wobble with nerves. The last sentences they spoke to each other flashed across her eyelids, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to run away and hide beneath a desk.

She was determined though, so she flicked her gaze up to his face, only to find his eyes were steadfastly trained away from her, as if he'd seen her standing there and had immediately become offended. Hermione wouldn't back down though, especially since she knew he knew she was there, and she waited for a few more seconds, until he'd just passed where she was standing, and then she could smell that unique, masculine smell of his, as if he'd sent it on the breeze to torment her.

It had been her first meeting with Theo that gave her the inspiration, and with only a slight tremor to her fingers she opened her bag and chucked a few of her books to the pavement, trying to make the whole thing look and sound like it'd been an accident.

Draco paused, his broad, lean back a few feet away from her. His head turned just the smallest of slivers, as if he could somehow see behind him and take in what she'd done. He would turn around, if he was any kind of decent human being he would help the poor girl pick up her books, it'd been what Theo did, surely Draco would do it too, right?

He would bend down and help her, and as he did so Hermione would slip down too, making sure she flounced her skirt in just the right way, making sure he caught sight of the knickers she wore beneath her uniform. That was what had to happen. Or so, that was what Hermione told herself had to happen. That'd been her plan.

But then Draco was walking again, as if he'd read her thoughts and decided against appeasing her, towards the school and away from a very frustrated Hermione, who was left to growl and pick up her _own_ books, with barely a minute left until class.

* * *

"—look at that skank, look how short her skirt is," said the girl who's own skirt was twice as short as Hermione's. Pansy giggled behind her hand and looked at Hermione with pity.

Hermione just glared and ignored her, turning her attention to Harry and Ron. This time, they didn't hide their notebook.

She frowned when she caught sight of a few of the scrawled words. "Harry, what—"

"It's nothing," he said crisply, as Ron gave him an encouraging look, "…It's just—"

"Mate, Hermione's a girl—"

"Thanks for noticing, Ron," She crossed her arms on the desk, quite put out, yet desperate for a distraction from Pansy's putrid looks. "Do you need girl help, Harry?"

Harry looked as if he wanted to blush at the question, but couldn't quite muster up the energy. "Sort of… it's my mum, she—"

Hagrid walked in, laughing enthusiastically at whatever Neville had told him as he followed into homeroom behind him, and all possibilities of secret conversations were squandered.

Hermione frowned.

* * *

The art room was long and quite packed, benches lined with brushes and turpentine, potter wheels shoved to the back wall, with hardly a bare inch of wall space that wasn't covered in paintings. The teacher seemed even more disorganised, bug-like spectacles made her head look as if it was planning to fall off at any second, and her frizzy hair, which was even worse than Hermione's, had been attempted to be restrained by several, mismatched bandanas and even a worn, old string of rosary beads.

Hermione took a seat on a stool beside Harry and Ron, who were discussing something about soccer with a short, freckled boy next to them, and took out her visual diary.

The five paint splattered, square tables took up the majority of the tiled floor space, each big enough to seat about six to eight students, and Hermione kept sending anxious, furtive glances to the back of the room, where Draco sat at the last table, tilting his chair back to rest on two of its legs, his mouth opening every now and then to make small remarks to the two huge boys Hermione now knew as Crabbe and Goyle. She'd had the unfortunate pleasure of being in the same english class as the two of them, and finding out that they knew even less about literature than a dormouse.

Draco wasn't looking at her, well at least he wasn't whenever she glanced in his direction. Nearly the whole class was paying little to no attention to what Trelawney was saying, in fact Hermione was only half listening, but that was due more to nerves than lack of interest. She was saying something about oil medium's, the thickness of the varnishes and the thinning of paint, her dreamy voice further away than Ireland, and all Hermione could do was pick at the barcode on the back of her diary.

Trelawney stopped speaking, and Hermione was very embarrassed that she'd missed out on hearing important instructions, but then everyone made their way over to the benches to fight over who got the best brushes.

The classroom door squealed open, and Theo walked in, his hair quite mussed and a stack of books in his arms. "Sorry I'm late, Ms—"

"Dear boy, not at all, not at all, when one has the talent, one must listen to one's own callings…" she waved a hand at him, trailing off on a tangent that nobody, including Theo, payed any heed.

As the lanky boy walked past, Ron elbowed her a little too harshly and said, "There's Nott, did you end up asking him about the maths thing?"

Hermione went bright red, not because of Ron's lack of tact in the presence of the topic of conversation, or even because of her little white lie, but because Draco, who was at the back of the paintbrush line, had clearly heard him, and found it interesting enough to turn his body enough to give off the aura of somebody eavesdropping.

"Um—" She knew that Ron only wanted to know so he could copy her answers, but she was still at a loss of what to say.

Theo, however, stopped in front of them, his brows raised and a small smile bending his lips into the shape of a question. "Hermione?"

"Oh, um, I was just wondering if you understood that last question on the warm up quiz yesterday? It's just, Mr Slughorn was very vague, and I didn't—"

"Oh, no problem, I have the answers right here," He patted the side of his bag, "Are you free after school finishes? We could meet in the library and go through the questions."

Hermione was wide eyed with Theo's suggestion, and nodded dumbly, receiving another smile from him before he said, "great," and then moved off to the back of the room to dump his stuff next to Draco's.

Hermione looked at the back of a particular blonde head, and willed him to turn around, but there was nothing apparent in the set of his shoulders that told her he'd been listening. Maybe he didn't care enough to be jealous. She chewed her lip as she watched him grab a random paintbrush and stroll over to his seat.

"You'd wanna be careful of that one, by the way, Hermione." Ron whispered as he jabbed at the bristles of his chosen brush.

"What?" She looked up, startled, hoping that Ron hadn't seen her ogling Draco

"Nott. He's a friend of Malfoy's."

She cleared her throat. "Oh, right. Don't worry, he's fine."

Harry gave her a funny look. "You've only known him for two days."

"So?" she shot back, a little too defensively, "I've only known you two for that long as well."

That seemed to silence them, and the three of them worked over jokes and good humour for the rest of the lesson, Hermione refusing to look to the back of the room, even though she swore she could feel the prickling gaze of an insistent glare on the back of her neck.

* * *

The corridors were nearly deserted, everybody too eager to get home, so Hermione found it quite peaceful as she made her way to the library. Of course she knew where it was on her second day, because she was a magnet that was drawn to books.

She was only two hallways and a courtyard away before she felt a hand snake around her wrist. Hermione let out a shriek that was quickly muffled behind a clammy palm, and instead she was left with the salty tang of sweat and a warm body as she was dragged back into an empty classroom.

The dim afternoon light cast an almost welcoming glow in the room, but she hardly had time to notice much else before her captor moved in front of her, and her shocked and dumbfounded expression was met with the steely fire of Draco Malfoy's eyes.

"Wha—"

He pushed her back, her spine coming into contact with the cold wall, and then his arms were on either side of her, just like they'd been on that first day. Except this time he looked pained, angry almost, and a part of Hermione wanted to smooth the frown from his pale face, while the rest of her wanted to slap him again for not helping her with her books, for dragging her into a classroom and making her seem like a defenceless idiot.

But she didn't have time for any of that, because then his fist was gripping her hair, tilting her head towards him, and his lips— they were _so_ close.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hi everyone, so sorry about the late update- I was even on my uni break and had so much time to write, but I've been reading an unhealthy number of fanfictions lately and have gotten very distracted. Not to worry, in a couple more weeks I'll be on holiday and will have plenty of time to update fast.**  
**Oh and thank you all so much for 100 follows- I'm so stoked!**  
**Also to the lovely guests who leave anonymous reviews, thank you heaps and I wish I could reply to you. x **  
**Hope everyone had a happy Easter, now on with the story~ :)**

* * *

Her lips, they were _so_ close. Draco wanted to kiss her, and badly. He _was_ going to kiss her, dammit. Fuck whatever reasons he'd made up so as to stay away from her. This was right, but so, so wrong. She was the only good in a turmoil of darkness, the light which would flicker and die if it were exposed for too long against bad thoughts. This was wrong, but so, so right.

Her hair was like silk tendrils sliding between his fingers, she was the temptress who had tried to seduce him by dropping her schoolbooks, a fact which had made Draco want to laugh and cry. Laugh, because Hermione was just the sort of girl to act upon silly and whimsical notions, ideas she'd no doubt found in her books, and cry, because Draco had wanted to feel nothing when he'd looked at her hopeful features which he should find plain, unattractive, but when he'd turned and seen her standing there, her books at her feet, the only instinct that had coursed through him had been affection.

She'd been tormenting him all day, sending him looks of longing when she thought he didn't notice, talking to Theo as if he were an old friend, an acquaintance made just to spite him. He wanted to loathe her for it, but all he did was _need_ her, ache with the desire for her body to be against his.

And now here they were, barely an inch apart, and he could smell that delectable feminine smell that radiated off her in waves, he could hear the little puffs of her breathing as if she were waiting for him to move, to close the gap and kiss her. So he did, he leant forwards, guiding her delicate neck, yearning, craving to taste her lips once more—

She turned her head to the side, just like that, at the last moment, and before Draco's lost lips could graze her cheek, his numb shock enabled her to push him away.

Surprise kindled into anger as he took in the sight of her red cheeks, the sparkling wetness in her eyes, and the tightness to her lips and brows.

Draco clenched his fists, willing his feet not to take a step back, because then the distance between them would increase, then he'd feel even further away from her than before.

Rejection was like toxic spikes within his stomach, burning their way into his windpipe and making him swallow forcibly.

"So— that's that, then—" The clearing of his throat was a far off echo, and when he looked back into her eyes he saw traces of molten hurt.

"You said you never wanted to hurt me." Her voice was softly spoken through a net of wired vulnerability.

Draco's repeated words felt like a noose of lies around his neck, and his adams apple bobbed painfully as he looked at the redness around her eyes.

Hermione's name danced dangerously on the tip of his tongue, begging to be let free from his mouth, but before he could speak she continued.

"You hurt me."

His eyes flashed at her words, the guilt mingling into his resurfacing anger. He had hurt her, he knew he had, and from the first moment he had seen her, he knew he _would_. He'd done this to himself, pushed her away, because he didn't deserve her, and he wouldn't let his remorse win out. Instead he reigned in his anger, grabbing a metaphorical spade of doom and digging his own grave.

"And I'll do it again— I'll hurt you again and agai—"

"Draco—"

"Because that's how I am." He wouldn't look at her, because if he did he'd be tempted to throw everything away, dissemble every wall he'd built up around himself and crumble into her arms. "I'm no good for you. You should have listened—"

"No!" A twisted part of him wanted to smirk at the way she sounded, as if she was ready to stamp her foot, "that's how _you_ think you are. If you just stopped pushing peop—"

"For somebody so smart you need to pay more attention, Granger."

She glared at the use of her last name, and the rejected side of him rejoiced at the tiny step she took away from him. He didn't listen to the other half, which wanted to reach out and scream his wrongdoings.

"This isn't about me—"

"Really? I—"

"This is about _US_!"

She caught him in a flood of light, his jaw clenching and unclenching as the words bounced around in his skull. Such a simple word, yet it strung them together as inseparable, as two which became one, and he wanted to hate it, he wanted to be repulsed at the idea of being part of an 'us' with somebody. But an 'us' with Hermione… Him and her, together, it was something that pulsed through his veins and told him to reach out and grab her again, but then her evasiveness flashed past his eyelids, the turning of her head from a kiss he thought they'd both wanted, and his next words made his insides cringe.

"There is no 'us.' There never will be."

Then he turned, leaving her with a lie that coated his mouth and coaxed the beginnings of tears from her eyes.

* * *

"Draco—"

A long, manicured hand on his taut shoulder, her nails digging into his sweater, the corridor was full of departing students, yet he couldn't throw her off.

"_Draco_." She let go, and he knew the hidden connotation behind her use of his name, _turn around or I'll scream_. Manipulative bitch.

"What?" He spat as he swivelled, uncaring for the hostility which laced his voice.

"Tonight my mum's out, come over?"

"No," excuses, he needed them to sound real, "I can't." Lame.

"Then I'll come to you—"

"_No_."

Familiar voices carried from behind them, bloody Potter and Weasel, and then a soft, feminine voice, replying in a somewhat scathing tone to something the Weasel had mumbled. Draco hated it, hated the way something ugly boiled in his belly, hated how he didn't think he'd mind if it were _him_ on the end of Hermione's reproachful voice.

Then he saw it, Pansy's thin brows draw together as her eyes flicked with some sort of spark, a deviousness which Draco would have once admired, but now made him want to shout and curse.

He wouldn't let Pansy win though, not now, not ever, and he was quicker than her, so before her twisted mouth could open and say something hurtful, Draco launched himself at her, grabbing her shoulders and kissing her breathless.

He'd never kissed Pansy, he'd never wanted to, because there was never any deep feelings between them, at least on his part, and even now it felt all wrong, sickly and almost sour, but she was pliant and willing, whatever plans she'd been stewing over in reference to Hermione now quickly evaporating.

When he finally broke away from her, wiping the back of his hand across his swollen lips, all he could see was the bounce of Hermione's curls as she ran away, leaving her two friends confused and disgusted in her wake.

For some reason, it was easier to hurt the girl he cared about, himself, rather than have her feel pain at the hand of another. It was better this way.

"_There is no 'us'_."

Draco just hoped he could live with that.

* * *

He watched as she avoided the seat in front of him, and took the only other spare, the one on the right of Theo. Draco scowled at his maths textbook, a battered old thing which he'd stolen from lost property. It held a lot of answers, on the pack few pages, his favourite chapter, but they weren't answers to the problems he was having.

There was a ticking in his temples, and it got worse as with every second their conversation went on for.

"—this afternoon, in the library?"

"Oh, yeah, sure."

"By the way, I was meaning to ask. Will you be coming on school camp?"

"Camp? What—"

"You mustn't have heard yet, I suppose Hagrid will go over it in home group tomorrow."

"Right. Do you know where we'll be going?"

"I believe it was somewhere in the countryside, although—"

"Shut. _Up_." Draco's own voice came out rougher than he'd expected, but still two faces turned to stare at him, Theo's filled with wary humour and Hermione's a vacant stare that was aimed somewhere above his head.

"Sorry, mate. Didn't know maths means so much to you…" Theo trailed off in a quiet voice, although there was something awfully smug in the slight upturn to his lip when his gaze fell back on his own textbook.

Draco turned his aching frown back to the front of the classroom, where their Math tutor, Slughorn, droned on with a passion for numbers that should be illegal.

He shouldn't have come to this class, he hadn't for the last two, and it had been a punch to the gut to realise Hermione was also in this class, one of the few they shared which wasn't interrupted by the ugly presence of Potter and Weasley, and that she'd obviously spent the last two lessons getting better aquatinted with Theo in Draco's absence.

He growled, and pledged to himself that never again would he miss another maths lesson.

* * *

There was an ugly taste in his mouth, a bitterness that always clogged his throat when he had to initiate conversation with his father. What did you call somebody who couldn't possibly be any less like a father? The word 'dad' was like a searing hot stone in his mouth, and he had to mumble it once, twice, three times, before the hunched figure on the couch turned his head to offer his son any attention.

Draco's hand shook as he held out the camp forms towards the man, his jaw already clenched in the gut wrenching anticipation of what was most likely to come.

His father's hair had grown past his shoulders, his face a shadow of insistent stubble and red alcoholic blotchiness. "What?" It was almost a wheeze, and Draco's gaze couldn't help but flit up from the dirty carpet to the bloodshot eyes of his father.

"Just school stuff."

Lucius grunted, leant forward to bang down his chipped glass on the skewed coffee table, and stood up with half a groan to glower at his son. The man wasn't able to threaten Draco with his height anymore, because Draco had grown rapidly over the summer, his shoulders broadening out, but still he stiffened when the gap between them suddenly seemed a lot smaller.

"You need to sign it."

A growl this time, "_Need?_ Need, boy? The only thing I need is for you to fuck off and stop bugging me with such nonsense." His hand moved up to shove at Draco's retreating arm, and the papers scattered to the floor.

Draco wouldn't lower himself to his knees, he wouldn't retrieve them, he only stood there, both hands now clenched into fists at his sides. "It's for school," he tried again.

"I'm not bloody deaf," Lucius snarled, his fingers swiping at his forehead in an obvious attempt to alleviate his headache. Then he turned away, ambling to the doorway, and Draco felt a fit of rage course through him.

"No, just bloody drunk, apparent—" There was no time to finish, only the blinding hot whiteness as he was struck in the face. For a man hungover, his father moved fast, and Draco slammed back into the table, his knee banging off it with a splitting force.

"How _dare_—"

"Yes, I dare," Draco seethed, the taste of blood thick on his tongue, "Why do you have to be such a— such a _fuck_!?"

Lucius looked demented, his eyes popping, and his teeth bared in a hiss. However, he didn't move, clearly too stunned at his son's sudden display of retaliation. His stillness made Draco reckless, it was a dangerous encouragement.

"You just sit there— you sit in that _fucking _chair and you drink— you _drink_ and you just— _fuck_! Don't you get it? Don't you see what you've done— what you did to her— it's _your_ fucking fault she's dead— she died because you—" He couldn't breathe, pain everywhere, pain in his lungs and around his neck, his father's hand at his throat and his back against the wall. He couldn't swallow, he couldn't— couldn't breathe— his fingers came up to claw at the wrist pinning him, tried to shove at the man's chest, and he barely heard what came next.

A laugh. _A laugh_. Low and caustic, almost sadistic, but the next second it turned into a sob, a sob which slackened the grip around Draco's throat. He took his chance, lunging forward and sending his father back several steps.

Draco didn't look back to see if Lucius followed, didn't stay another second to witness that sob break into a hundred others, or hear the cracks and crevices which made up his father become a splintering sadness that sent him to his knees.

He left, the front door slamming shut behind him, and he didn't slow down, not when the cold sting of twilight bit into his cheeks, not when he recognised where his feet were taking him, and not even when he ended up at a familiar bus stop, the hedged garden and gate across the road beckoning him further.

He sat there for several minutes, or maybe hours, he couldn't tell, all he knew was the desperate desire to be within it, seated with a family who were no doubt having dinner right about now, holding hands and laughing with a girl whose smile he could stare at for a million years.

But he had none of those things, all he had was the numbness in his fingers and the pain in his throat, and a longing in his heart that sent dull pangs through his chest.

He didn't leave until the last light, the light in _her_ window, dimmed and died.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hullo hullo~ I just wanted to share with you all the book I'm reading right now, it's called "Fangirl" and it's honestly the greatest (aside from HP of course ;)~) it's about ****fan fiction, uni, and first love, and it was inspired by the author's love of reading Harry Potter fanfics! (Actually, I have a sneaking suspicion the plot of the heroine's fanfic in the novel is really loosely based off the "Drarry" Draco/Harry, ship?! Maybe. What are your thoughts on Drarry? haha) But yes, it's a must- a really quick and easy read, totally enjoyable!**

Anywho, here we have another chapter! Hope everyone likes it :)

Disclaimer: don't own a single thing

* * *

"So the answer to this question would be…" Hermione's voice trailed off as she felt Theo's leg brush hers beneath the table. Her eyes widened a little as she stared at the printed text in front of her, wondering whether it'd be more awkward to pretend she hadn't noticed, or to move her own leg away.

The library was empty apart from the two of them, all of the students preferred to race home as soon as possible it seemed, either that or they wasted their time at the mall or pointless parties.

"Sorry," Theo said, both his voice and his expression soft as Hermione looked up at him from across the table.

"Oh," what did she say? 'That's okay?' But then it'd be like admitting she had felt it and had been too embarrassed to say something first. Oh what did it even matter anyway? Her face was probably screwed up in thought, taking on the appearance of something ridiculous, because the next thing she heard was a very low chuckle.

"Forget I said anything." Theo's eyes had an almost dark tint to them as he watched her, one brow delicately cocked, evidently bemused.

Hermione cleared her throat and made an inconspicuous attempt at flattening her hair, desperately hoping she wasn't blushing. She continued mulling over her thoughts on the question but had her concentration broken when Theo once again spoke.

She could definitely feel her face heating up when she saw that he hadn't even removed his gaze from studying her.

"What?" She asked, wanting to kick herself.

"I was just wondering whether you'd like to catch a movie sometime? There's quite a few good films on."

Crap, now she was definitely blushing. Theo was asking her out? On a date? But no, it would be just as friends, seeing as someone as cool and collected as Theo couldn't possibly fancy someone as unsociable as Hermione, and besides there was still Draco… No, Draco had made it very clear that he no longer wanted her, a thought which had Hermione very upset for the last four days, but she'd been filling her afternoons with very thought consuming maths tutoring from Theo. Speaking of Theo, he was still staring at her, waiting for an answer, and now she felt like an idiot.

"Um, yeah— Sure— I mean, I'd love to…" What if he misinterpreted her answer and thought _she_ was the one who wanted to go as something more than friends, then what would— A distraction, a reprieve from Draco… Something she needed, for her own sake, and probably his too. If he was moving on with Pansy then Hermione deserved to move on too— but her gut clenched in pain with that thought, so she shoved it to the back of her mind. She'd been quiet for far too long, and Theo was still staring, his face carved in calm anticipation. "Yes, that sounds great."

A flicker in his eyes, as if he knew what she'd been mulling over, as if he had seen her thoughts as clearly as she had. She brushed it off with a shiver, and when she looked back up he was smiling.

"Brilliant. I'm a little busy this weekend, but how about the next?"

"Sure, suits me. Gives me more time to finish off my history essay."

Theo grinned at her, and then the two lapsed into the the silence of their study session, unaware that behind the nearest row of shelves, Draco Malfoy stood with his shoulders squared, his face etched into a scowl.

* * *

Hermione resolutely ignored the back desk when she walked into home group that morning, her arms aching with the weight of her textbooks, and took her normal seat next to Harry and Ron. Sometimes she would have liked to sit by Theo, but doing that would put her too close to Draco, and besides, for whatever reason Harry and Ron didn't seem to approve of her new friendship with Theo.

Hagrid hadn't arrived yet, so the class was filled with waves of chatter and laughter. Hermione barely heard what Harry said as he leaned in front of Ron to talk to her.

"Pardon?"

"I've been meaning to ask you for a while now, Hermione."

"Mm? Is it about the essay? You know, you should—" Ron chuckled, Hermione shot him a glare. He looked abashed and turned his face away.

"No, it's— I wanted to— you see— you're a smart girl and I need your help with something…"

Hermione paused in thought, a little flattered at Harry's words, and leant closer to hear him over the clang and scraping of desks, the action made her shoulder push against Ron's. The boy looked startled, clearing his throat as a slight stain began to spread across his cheeks. Hermione didn't seem to notice.

"Yes, what is it then?"

Now Harry looked embarrassed, and ran a hand up to ruffle through his already messy hair. "You can't tell anyone, it's really… um—"

Hermione moved even closer, not wanting Harry to have to talk any louder than he needed, as he seemed quite uncomfortable, in fact she was just about to ask Ron to swap seats with her when the boy jerked back in his seat and abruptly swivelled around.

"What the fuck, Malfoy?" He swept his hand over the back of his jumper, trying to get rid of the rectangular chalk stain which was the result of a thrown blackboard eraser lying behind their chairs.

Hermione turned, caught between amusement and disapproval, but seeing as she currently was trying to forget all about the blonde boy behind her, she didn't offer him the glare which was so eager to break free. Instead she swatted Ron's hand away, "Here, let me," and she used the cuff of her sleeve to rub the white powder out of the fabric.

There was a snort from behind them, which Hermione ignored, and when the mark was finally gone she patted Ron on the shoulder and said, "There. Now what was it you were saying, Harry?"

Harry didn't say anything, but he quickly scrawled something onto a corner of paper and then tore it off to slide over to Hermione. It was just as well, too, because at that moment Hagrid walked, his voice cheerful as he told them their camp forms were due in one week.

Hermione wasn't really listening though, she was too busy frowning at what Harry had written, his lettering looked almost angry in their hurry.

_'__I think my mum's having an affair. My dad doesn't know. What do I do?_'

* * *

Fucking Weasley. How dare he— how dare he get close enough to—

Draco growled, resisting the temptation to smash his bare fist into the brick wall. Instead he crushed the life out of his cigarette, making sure its black ashes mixed into the gravel. The sky was a dark grey, and Draco wanted to laugh sarcastically at himself when he realised it was very much like his mood.

Trembling with the need to rain, brooding with the deep clouds that seemed to circle on into an eternity. Draco was almost shaking with the urge to go and kick the fucking Weasel, but he was also brimming with the desire to go and grab Hermione, to kiss her in front of the entire school, just to prove, to make sure everyone knew, that she was _his_.

He knew where he could find her, they had art class right now, and Draco was already ten minutes late. Tiny pebbles crunched beneath his shoes as he paced, pulling on the tie that was too tight around his neck, tugging at the hair that was too long and in his eyes.

Fuck, if he didn't turn up though, Theo would be alone with Hermione. Not true of course, the whole class would be there, and bloody Potter and his ginger growth, but if Draco himself didn't turn up, then Theo, the bastard, would probably think he had the right to—

Another growl.

He was just sick of his decisions being dictated by a force he'd much rather choose to ignore. And goddamn, it didn't have a thing to do with _jealousy_.

* * *

Draco stormed into the art room, uncaring for the door banging behind him, and not bothering to offer any form of greeting or apology when Trelawney looked up at him in surprise, her expression magnified by her gaudy bat-like glasses.

He walked past the first two tables, sloping up to the third where Hermione sat between two of his least favourite people. She wasn't looking at him, a fact which made him both glad and annoyed, her hair was shrouding her face between two curly curtains, something which made Draco's fingers twitch with the need to entangle themselves within that softness he missed so much.

His jaw jutted as he bit his teeth together, and then he moved on, dropping his bag off his shoulder and onto the ground beside Theo's stool.

His friend gave him a very arch look, and Draco had to fight down the urge to throw something, like a blackboard eraser, at his head. "Where've you been?"

"Fuck off."

"Ah, I see. You don't look too well."

Draco ignored him and jerked his neck against the constricting feel of his tie. Fucking uniform. He was just about to voice his opinion when Theo continued in a low, somewhat startled tone.

"Draco, your neck—"

Shit, that was why he'd never felt fit to complain about the school tie, because together with the collar it did a pretty good job of covering a lot of his father's damage.

Draco shrugged, his voice cool, "What?" His eyes met Theo's, and they didn't waver until the other boy's stare backed down, a slight crease between his brows.

He didn't need other people's concern, or their pity, he only needed one thing, and she was sitting two tables away, ignoring him, just like he deserved. Because the one thing he needed would be the one thing he would end up hurting irrevocably.

* * *

Hermione stepped off the bus, her mind full of all the homework she had to catch up on that weekend and of what poor Harry had told her. She sighed as she crossed the road, swinging open the gate and letting herself in the front door.

She'd tried to ask him more about it in art, but he hadn't wanted to seem to obvious because Seamus had been sitting across from them.

So she'd written a note back to him, '_do you know who it is?_' But Harry had only flushed and gotten a scary sort of rage in his eyes. It'd been at that moment when Draco barged into the room, and Hermione had used all of her willpower to keep her eyes directed at the table and not at the way his hair looked tangled and windswept, or the way there seemed to be a burning flicker in his pale eyes. She'd felt his gaze boring into the back of her neck, heavy and heated enough to cause her to sweat a little. But then he'd moved away, and Ron had whispered to her under his breath, "Gee, Hermione. What on earth have you done to Malfoy?" He obviously hadn't seemed too concerned though, because he'd followed his question with a contented laugh.

After class had finished Hermione had drawn Harry aside and told him to ring her if he wanted to talk about anything, and he'd looked somewhat thankful and hesitant. Hermione hadn't missed the way Ron's eyes had glared at the little slip of paper she'd passed to Harry with her number on it, as if he wanted to set it on fire. So she'd laughed a little and copied one out for Ron too, telling him if he needed any help with homework he could just give her a ring. He'd looked positively cheerful after that, and then the three had said their goodbyes.

Draco, on the other hand, had looked enraged as he'd shoved past her to get out of the door. He didn't hold it open for her, and somehow that made his anger sting her all the more.

Hermione sighed as she settled down at her desk, opening her textbooks and getting out her pencil case. She would get all her homework done within the next few days, and she wouldn't once let thoughts of Draco Malfoy distract her. That wasn't too much to ask for, was it?

* * *

Draco made it through that weekend without seeing his father once. He didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad one. It was great because he had the whole house to himself, his father's whiskey stash, and free reign over the television. Draco hardly watched any TV, because that would bring him into the same room as his father, and that was something Draco could never see himself associating with leisure.

He ordered pizza for lunch and dinner and smoked cigarettes on the back lawn. When he was finished he chucked the ends over the fence into the neighbour's garden, just for good measure. Then he'd go inside and make up a new excuse to tell Pansy to stop her from coming over.

He'd lie awake on his bed, his hands behind his head, and glared at the ceiling until his head hurt. Eventually his thoughts couldn't help but stray to Hermione, to wondering what she was doing right now, and if she was thinking about him. Thinking about Hermione always led to dangerous territory, and the reason why he'd been snubbing off Pansy recently was because thoughts of Hermione's soft lips combined with the satisfaction of his own hand was enough to bring him to release.

He jerked off to imagining the supple curves of her body, the caress of her hair against his cheek, and of her tongue lashing against his. He groaned with the final stroke of his hand, the skin of his dick now raw and aching, because no matter how often he fantasised about her, he'd never get to touch the real thing. He'd made sure of that himself, and never before had he felt like a bigger idiot.


	9. Chapter 9

**Please leave me your thoughts!  
Hope you like~**

* * *

Hermione had quite a normal weekend, apart from two phone calls from Ron, both of which contained him stammering over the same question for their history essay. Hermione had only rolled her eyes and stifled a giggle, and then explained in as serious a voice as she could. She'd asked if he'd heard from Harry, but he'd gone sort of quiet at the question and had then told her he needed to hang up due to his brother wanting the phone.

* * *

Hermione finally had the answer to her question when the next day, after a double lesson of science with Snape looming and making scathing comments over their shoulders, Harry had stormed out of the lab block with a frustrated Ron at his heels, and Hermione had to trot to catch up with them.

"Harry, what—"

Ron turned to give her a sympathetic look, slowing a little so they could walk side by side, while Harry just continued to glare daggers into his feet as he marched ahead of them.

"Don't, 'Mione," Ron whispered, "he's pretty upset—"

"Why?" she mouthed.

Ron pursed his lips and looked guiltily at Harry's back. "Snape." He said it at exactly the same time Harry whipped around.

"Don't say that name," he spat.

"Harry—"

"It's _him_, Hermione— it's _his_ fucking fault that my mum—" he broke off, his face red with anger. Ron sent an awkward look to the ground, his mouth scrunched up. Now Hermione understood why he'd been so hesitant to say anything over the phone. It was as if it physically pained Harry to think about it. She had no idea how he'd managed to contain himself throughout the two hour lesson.

"Oh, Harry." She wanted to hug him, but as if he knew what she was thinking he put a hand out to stop her.

"Don't. I need time to— to think. See you guys later." And then he walked off, his shoulder bag banging against his hip with the speed of his steps.

Hermione turned to Ron, who was still looking uncomfortable. "How did Harry find out?"

"What? That his mum's banging—"

"_Ron!_"

"Sorry. 'Spose it's just kinda weird, you know? I've met her loads of times, and she just didn't seem the sort to— to—"

Hermione grimaced, "cheat."

"Yeah, that," Ron cleared his throat, "he found out cause he asked her 'bout it. Said he'd tell his dad if she didn't tell him the truth."

"Poor Harry," She moaned "I wish I knew how I could help."

"Yeah," Ron sighed, "me too."

* * *

"—The quiz should take most of the lesson, and no cheating please students. I can tell when a piece of work isn't—ah— genuine. So take your time, and feel free to discuss the answers with your partner— quietly, that is— oh! and there is of course, a prize for the winning pair. Announced next lesson." Slughorn patted his belly and gave a broad grin, as if this were the most exciting piece of news they were ever likely to hear.

The promise of a prize wasn't enough to gain everybody's enthusiasm, so the room was filled with groans and sighs as everyone turned to the friend next to them.

Hermione had every intention of asking Theo if he would work with her, but when she turned in her seat she found the lurking form of Goyle smirking as he stood by the lanky boy's shoulder. Theo looked chagrinned, but apart from giving her an apologetic smile he didn't say anything.

Crud, Hermione didn't know too many people in this class, aside from Theo and a girl called Susan, and they both already had partners. And no matter how many times she had to remind herself to _not_ look to the back of the room, she couldn't help herself.

It was her last resort, everybody else was in pairs, and Hermione wasn't going to be that one awkward girl who couldn't even do a maths quiz with somebody. So she stood up, grabbed her bag, cringing with the weight of it, and tried to maintain as much dignity as she could as she made her way to the back row.

Draco was slumped in his seat, his arm slung over the back of the empty chair next to him. He looked completely nonplussed, he didn't even have a notebook open in front of him, in fact he was studying something apparently invisible under his nail, his lip curled and a frown on his face.

He didn't see her coming, hell, he couldn't be _that_ good of an actor, and a little part of her beamed in smugness when he looked up in surprise as she banged her bag down onto the desk next to him.

Before she could say anything, Slughorn ambled up to the last row and handed them their quiz sheet. He grinned and nodded at Draco, who looked as if he'd just swallowed something incredibly sour. "Good choice, Mr Malfoy. You'll find Miss Granger is very adept in the skill of mathematics." Then he plodded off, a hum in his step as he lumbered over to his desk.

Hermione cleared her throat several times as she sat down, trying to cool down the temperature in her cheeks by taking several calming breaths before she reached out to drag the test paper onto her side of the desk.

Draco, who had slid as far as he could to the side of his chair, away from Hermione, slammed his fist down on the paper, stopping it before it could cross into her territory.

"Excuse _me_," Hermione spoke through clenched teeth, trying to pull on the corner of paper without tearing it, "get _off _my—"

"_Our,_" Draco corrected, his tone clipped.

Hermione glared at him, but gave up tugging when he moved his hand.

"Sorry," she murmured as she fished a pen out of her bag, "I was under the impression that there was no '_us_'. Therefore, one can hardly assume there is an '_our_.'"

Draco scoffed, then repeated, his voice sarcastic, "Sorry, _partner_. I was under the impression that in choosing me for this pathetic—"

"I'm not listening. Unlike you, I actually care about my grades." Hermione knew she was acting childish, but she didn't care. She pursed her lips and tilted her chin, beginning to read over the first question.

She was somewhat surprised that he didn't have a reply to that. Good. Only, not so good, because even though her eyes took in the words she was reading, her brain didn't register them. She couldn't focus. He'd moved a little closer, his face turned towards her as he too, read the question. She could hear his breathing, feel it on the side of her neck as it tickled the hair that had escaped her ponytail. It was warm, intoxicating, and she knew that if she just moved her head a tiny bit more in his angle, she'd smell that heady, sweet smell that was purely Draco. She wanted to smack herself.

She leant back in her chair, away from him, away from his very distracting breathing, and she just knew her cheeks were bright pink by now. Being this close to him, feeling the warmth radiating off his shoulders, it was doing very irritating things to her stomach. Fuzzy, tingly things. Things she'd felt when he'd touched her that night, his long fingers teasing her beneath her knickers.

Hermione almost groaned as she bit her lip. Maths, she needed to think of maths. Numbers, algebra, subtract, plus… She couldn't even remember the first question, but if she leant forward to check it again, she'd be closer to him, and his bloody breath, and — oh crap— he was looking at her.

His chin was in his hand, his elbow on the table, and one eyebrow was raised almost to his hairline as he regarded her through long, pale lashes, his gaze suspicious and — her breath hitched in her throat. There was something— something piercing and almost _intense _in the way he looked at her. It coiled in her belly, hot and familiar, and she almost choked as she forced herself to swallow and look down at the quiz. Maths. _Think of maths_.

Hermione's face was flaming, her hand nearly trembling as she moved her pen across the paper, filling in the answer which she knew was only half right. Anything to get her mind back on task. She could still feel his eyes stuck to the side of her face, but she refused to acknowledge him.

She'd completed five questions before his hand came to push hers out of the way. It was warm, startlingly soft, his veins noticeable along his toned forearms. Hermione tried not to stare at the way the afternoon sun caught the fine golden hairs along his skin, or how his muscles pulled when he applied pressure to the tip of his pen, scratching out something she'd already written. Ah, the first answer. She felt stupid, ogling a guy who didn't want her… but the way he'd looked at her just a few moments ago—_ Maths maths maths_.

* * *

Draco tried to stifle his smirk as he scribbled out the last of Hermione's equations. When he'd first looked up to see her standing in front of him he'd wanted to balk, she'd chosen him? After what he said to her? But then he'd looked around and saw that everyone else was already in pairs, and that small bout of flattery he'd felt turned to resentment. He'd make sure she would never think of him as a last resort, ever again, dammit.

But then he'd noticed that gorgeous flush across her cheekbones, her faint freckles covered in redness, and somehow he just _knew_ that at least a little part of her still cared. He had to be the luckiest, most selfish, dumbest guy on the planet. Or maybe that was her. How could she still feel anything for him after what he'd said, after he'd kissed Pansy in front of her?

Suddenly Hermione had leant back in her chair, as if trying to get further away from him. He didn't deserve to feel regret over that, because as soon as she'd sat down he'd tried to do the same, except his reasons were very, very different. Because being too close to her, smelling the scent of her caramel coloured hair and sensing the heat of her skin did traitorous things to his groin, and produced _very_ noticeable results. The fact that her sudden jerking movement had popped one of the buttons of her shirt, a button sitting just above the curve of her chest, did not help his situation at all.

Draco's throat went dry as her shirt parted just enough for him to see a swelling of smooth, creamy skin and then the blue edge of her lacy bra. He felt his trousers tighten, felt his eyelids droop with blatant want. Shit. What if she noticed?

But then she'd leant forwards again, and thankfully, although Draco had to admit he was a _little _disappointed, the gap in her shirt closed with the movement. He hadn't payed attention to whatever she was writing, and frankly, maths was the last thing on his mind. He was too busy reigning in his overactive imagination, thoughts of pulling her onto his lap and simply devouring her whole, of licking and sucking her lips until they bruised— _fuck_. He was so hard it hurt.

He'd needed to do something, anything, to make the blood in his dick recirculate, to make his thoughts more clear. So he'd grabbed the paper from her, swallowing thickly as his hand brushed her knuckles.

Then he'd seen her answers, and he'd wanted to laugh. Instead, after crossing them out, he said, "I thought you cared about your grades?" His voice wasn't as accusing as he'd hoped, but nonetheless her head snapped in his direction. He thought she might have even jumped a little.

"Yes, I do," she mumbled.

"Then how come none of your answers are correct?" A thought came to him in the time it took her to look guilty, a thought which made his gut clench and his throat muscles constrict. "Lessons with Theo not paying off?" His voice was too heavy, too bent with emotion— emotions he hoped to god she wouldn't be able to distinguish.

Hermione glared at him, her honeyed eyes narrowed and her cheeks filling with rosiness. "That's none of your business," she hissed.

Draco looked back to the paper and shrugged, trying to tell her he didn't care, he didn't give two shits about what she did with Theo in the quiet hours of an empty library. Right? That didn't explain why he'd found himself hidden in the stacks, his nails digging into his palms as he'd balled his fists in his pockets. It also didn't explain the absolute rage he'd felt when Theo had asked Hermione to the movies. It had threatened to boil over and consume him, making him want to do something stupid like kick a shelf full of books, or peg a particularly heavy tome at his friend's head.

Draco suddenly realised that his shrug was as much him trying to convince himself as it was her. He wanted to punch the table, wanted to scrunch up their bloody quiz and set it on fire. Hell. He was in deeper than he'd ever thought possible, and he just knew, could feel it stewing in his gut, that if he let Hermione go into the dark theatre with fucking Theo, then he'd live to regret it.

He sighed, his shoulders deflating. Hermione stiffened next to him, and Draco peered at her from the corner of his eye. "We better finish, we've got ten minutes left."

Hermione nodded, and he couldn't help but notice the gesture was a bit shaky. He filled in two more blanks and then slid the sheet back to her.

Neither one said anything until Slughorn's timer went off, signalling the end of class, and there were a dozen of unsaid things hanging on the edge of Draco's tongue as Hermione got up to leave the classroom.

It was only after Slughorn had come to collect their quiz when Draco realised Hermione had left her maths textbook on the seat beside her vacant one.

* * *

The heels of Hermione's shoes slapped defeatedly against the pavement, her mind still back up in the math's classroom she'd just ran from.

Her heart was still racing with the memory of being so close to Draco, and her cheeks still felt hot, especially now that she'd stepped out into the crisp autumn air. She put her hand to her chest, feeling the steady thumping of it beneath her sweaty palm.

She blinked down in confusion when her fingertips came into contact with the bare skin of her chest. What? Crap— she was missing a button. When did that happen? Dear god, what if— no it must have slipped off when she was racing down the stairs, trying to get as far away from the classroom as possible. There was no way she'd been obliviously sitting next to Draco for a whole hour with her shirt gaping open — the very thought was mortifying.

She hastily did up the buttons of her school cardigan, glad that the long v-neck cut of it still managed to cover up the top of her breasts, and continued to make her way to the main gates.

Only, a voice stopped her, a voice which she yearned to have call her name, to relish it on the brinks of passion.

"Hermione—"

Just one word, her name, spoken with something near urgency, and it wrapped around her spine and sent shivers through her arms.

She whirled around, and there was Draco, several metres behind her, a book in one hand and the other on his thigh as he bent forwards with the effort to catch his breath. He must have chased after her, all the way from the maths room.

And there was her heart again, betraying her with its rapid beating and the blood that warmed her cheeks. She didn't trust herself to speak, but that was okay, because Draco beat her to it. He straightened and moved a few steps towards her.

"You left this." He held out his hand, and she recognised the book, her maths textbook, with her tiny neat initials penned onto the cover.

What did she say? He'd run all this way over something so small, something she'd been silly enough to forget in her escape. He could have just as easily thrown it out, or taken it for himself (as she'd noticed his own copy looked rather beaten) or if it had bothered him that much, he could have waited to give it back to her the next day. But instead he'd gone out of his way, wasted his time, to come after her. _Why_?

His words rang through her head, "_There is no 'us.'_" Confusion rose to outweigh the hurt she would have normally felt when she remembered those words. Then a little slice of anger wiggled its way up, irritation at the way she'd been rejected, but now he was directly doing something nice for her — she couldn't keep up.

Then she realised she'd probably been standing there for too long with a dumb expression on her face. So she cleared her throat and took the book. Their fingers brushed. Just a little. But it was enough.

"T-thanks," she said. Too croaky.

She shouldn't have looked up, because then she wouldn't have had to see the depth to his smokey eyes, the way they locked onto her own and made her question things she shouldn't. Like the distance between them, how it was too big yet too small all at once. Like the way they burned with icy greyness, a colour so cold it was warm, and like how he looked as if he wanted to tell her something, but couldn't.

But then he just turned, his face composed of stoney calm, and walked away from her. And Hermione couldn't help but notice a strange sense of sadness that seemed to move off of him in waves, brushing against her as she stood and watched his back.

Something inside her chest clenched. He was the one who didn't want her, so why did he seem so, _so _sad?


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi everyone! Thanks so much for reading :)  
****(And just a quick note to the anon who had something nasty to say; I'm sorry your time is void of anything as interesting as leaving negative comments on ****fan fiction. Really, that sounds like quite a boring life.)  
And to everyone else who's left positively lovely comments that make me want to cry, thank you, you guys are the reasons I continue writing. x  
****Anyway, hope you all enjoy - any hurtful comments, please keep them to yourselves. Thanks, :)**

* * *

Draco lathered peanut butter over his toast and then tossed the knife into the sink, where it fell with a resonating clatter as it joined piles of dirty dishes. He only washed them when he needed to, like when the cupboards were devoid of bowls or cutlery. Most of the time, however, pizza and microwave meals didn't need plates, and it wasn't as if his father ever gave two shits about the dishes.

Draco munched on his toast as he leant against the counter. When it was down to the last crust he shoved it all in his mouth and swept the crumbs off his jumper. At that moment, a noise came from down the hall, the creaking and then closing of a door. He didn't know his father had come home last night. Shit, at least he hadn't done something stupid like smoke in the house or have Pansy over.

Then his whole body stiffened, his father had just entered the kitchen and had come to an abrupt halt upon realising his son was also in the room.

It was the first time they'd actually come face to face since nearly a week ago, when Draco had been practically strangled and had said a handful of things his father definitely deserved to hear. He didn't have time for any shit this morning, he was already going to be late to school. But then he straightened, and by accident met the other man's eyes.

They weren't red, in fact they didn't even appear tired, he looked… _sober._ There was no shadow of a beard dappled across his harsh jawline, and his hair was shorter, cleaner.

Draco frowned, averting his judgemental glare and moving away from the counter and gabbing his bag from the table.

He made sure he slammed the front door as he left, but as he hurried off to school he couldn't shake off the feeling that Lucius had been trying to tell him something.

* * *

Hermione ducked her head as Draco came in late to home group. He walked straight past where she was sitting, and the air he pushed in her direction smelled like shampoo and peanut butter. She felt her cheeks beginning to burn a little, and in a fretful moment of embarrassment and distress she said the first thing that came to her mind. "I wonder if they make peanut butter scented shampoo."

Ron turned to her and grinned, his orange brows raised. "What's that? peanu—"

"No-nothing!" God, what if Draco had heard her? What if he really _did_ use peanut butter shampoo? "I'm just a little hungry, is all."

Ron laughed and pulled a granola bar out of his pocket, offering it to her. "Here. Mum _always_ packs 'em for me, even after six years of me bringin' 'em back home, untouched."

Hermione smiled at him, even though she really wasn't that hungry at all. "Thanks." She suppressed a grimace as she peeled back the wrapper. Leaning forwards, she greeted Harry cheerfully. He didn't say anything, but managed a slight nod, his hair looking as if he'd just rolled out of bed.

Ron gave her a knowing look and mumbled, "Don't worry, he's still trying to— to cope."

* * *

As it was a Friday afternoon and everyone was brimming with excitement at the prospect of the weekend, and only three more days until school camp, the math's classroom was filled with boisterous chatter and rowdy gossip. Slughorn had to clear his throat, (it sounded like he had a cold coming on,) three times before the students settled.

"Alright class— listen carefully now, I have some rather important information for you all. As your home group teachers would have already touched base with you on this, just briefly I'll go over the arrangements for Monday morning. You're to meet your teachers in the far west courtyard for role call at— _please_ Miss Bulstrode, put that down— seven a.m sharp. Don't be late or the buses _will _leave without you— yes Mr Goyle?"

"Wha' happens if we don't get our parent's signature?"

"Well, then, unfortunately you have to stay back and continue going to school like normal—"

"That's shit," Goyle sounded defeated.

"_Language_, please Mr Goyle. Now, I'm sure you must all be wondering what the destination will be. However, the faculty have decided it prudent for your education that this information be withheld, to benefit—"

"What if it's some really lousy place, then?" A girl in the front row interrupted, without raising her hand.

"I assure you, it isn't. So, now that's out of the way, we have five minutes left. Five minutes in which I will announce the winners of yesterday's quiz. Oh— the prize— will be a week off from this class to give you amble time to prepare for the end of semester exams."

There was a low wave of disappointed groaning. Hermione didn't complain, she thought this quite a good reward. She knew that she would definitely need more time to study maths than any of her other subjects.

"So then, so then! The winners," Slughorn bobbed on the balls of his feet, his belly wobbling, "are indeed, Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger. I think the two of you make quite a fine team, if I do say so myself."

Hermione felt her face heating up, and she could hear the shuffling of sleeves against the table behind her as Draco no doubt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Several heads turned to give them both appraising and jealous looks, and Hermione was about to lower her face until she saw Theo give her a small thumbs up beneath the edge of his desk.

She probably wouldn't have done nearly as well as she did without Theo's help. In fact, she was surprised she did well at all seeing as she'd been out of her mind with very distracting thoughts about Draco throughout the whole test, what with him being so close to her and all. She reminded herself to thank Theo later, and for now returned him a warm smile.

"Congratulations, the two of you," Slughorn continued, "I hope you use your free time well. Now, you're all free to go, and I shall have the pleasure of seeing you all Monday morning, as I'll be one of the teachers supervising the—" It was impossible to hear a further word, everyone had gotten up, chairs and bags banging everywhere in the rush to get home.

Hermione packed up slowly, figuring she'd lag behind so she could thank Theo, and ask him what time they'd meet at the theatres tomorrow. Her thoughts were a little too preoccupied, filled with silly anticipation over what she was going to wear and what she should do and how she should act, that she jumped in surprise when she heard a voice behind her shoulder. Draco's voice.

She swivelled on the balls of her feet, her hip swinging into the desk and tearing a shocked grunt from her lips. Draco's hand shot out to grip her elbow, just lightly, but it was still firm, still grounding, as if his touch was trying to tell her, 'it's okay if you fall, because I'll always be there to help you up.'

Her wide eyes tracked down to where their bodies touched, to the way the pale slenderness of his fingers contrasted with the blackness of her cardigan. She wanted to wrench her arm away, but at the same time she wanted to move closer, to feel more of that warmth and comfort that just the touch of his fingers had induced in her.

"Good job," he said, and then his hand was gone, lowered back to his side. She could swear that for a moment she'd seen his fingers clench.

It took her several long moments to realise he was talking about the test. "Thanks," she replied, blinking a few times to try and convey that she was unaffected, when in truth she was anything _but_. "You too."

Draco's lips were a thin line as he nodded at her. Just a slight nod, the kind that boy's give each other instead of a 'hello.' It made something inside of her throb, she didn't want to be one of those boys, just a casual acquaintance. She wanted to be much, much more. Maybe she was stupid for feeling that way, or perhaps she was just naive, but some irrational part of her still wanted to be close to him, to look past the brief bouts of immense hurt he'd caused her.

So without taking a breath, she blurted out, "I think we should use our free math periods to study together. You know— we're— we make a good team." Dammit she was blushing, but when she looked up at him his eyes were only calculating, almost like he was trying to decipher if what he'd heard had been real or not.

"Alright. Yeah." Another nod, yet something about this one seemed more enthusiastic, more genuine, and Hermione wondered if it were simply a trick of the light which let her see a slight softening around the corners of his mouth.

"O-okay. Well, see you monday then." She couldn't bare to leave without having said the last word, and she'd already seen Theo leave half a minute ago, so now was her perfect time to go.

She tried not to dwell on the way something in Draco's face fell after she'd said goodbye.

* * *

Draco watched as the classroom door shut behind Hermione. He was the last one in the room, standing between the desks and flexing his fingers. He could still feel the gentle curve of her arm, the way it'd fit perfectly in his hand.

'See you monday, then.' _Hah, monday my ass_. It's not like he would be going on any school camp, not with a dickhead of a father who refused and chucked a right fit when he'd asked for him to sign the form. Besides, he wasn't disappointed, not really. He didn't care for long bus rides and noisy people yabbering in his ear for the whole journey. He cared even less for room allocations, and what always ended up being him stuck in a room with Crabbe and Goyle. The only reason he'd wanted to go was to keep Theo, and fucking Weasley for that matter, away from Hermione. Who knew what the lot of them could get up to after lights out— He gritted his teeth with a growl.

Then he was hurrying out of the room, jogging down a corridor and slowing down at the corner when he heard the thoughtful tunes of his friend's voice.

"— tomorrow night in the theatre lobby?"

"Sure, what time's good for you?" That was Hermione. That familiar coiling rage sprang to life in his stomach, the same burning he always felt when he saw Theo talking to her.

"That depends. What film would you like to see?" Damn it he could practically hear the fucking smile behind Theo's question.

Hermione gave a nervous giggle, and it made Draco want to slam the back of his skull against the wall. He couldn't though, because if he did he'd give his eavesdropping position away. "I'm not too sure, I— um— I don't watch much TV, see? I don't know what's good."

Theo laughed. "Okay, then. How about we just meet at seven, see what's on and go from there?"

"Sounds great—"

"I look forward to it."

A short pause. Good. "Me too. See you then."

Theo responded with his own goodbyes, and then Draco could hear his retreating footsteps. Crap, what if Hermione came back the other way, around the corner where Draco was standing?

She didn't though, thankfully. Draco let out a haggard breath as he heard her soft steps recede down the hall.

Without pausing to convince himself otherwise, he flipped out his cellphone and punched in a quick text to Pansy.

'_Tomorrow night at the movies? Meet at 7.00.' _

Pansy replied almost instantly.

'_Sure. Come to mine now, though. Mum's out. See you soon x.'_

Draco eyed the little 'x' at the end of the message with strong distaste. Then he sighed as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. He didn't want to go. Hell he wouldn't mind if he never had to see Pansy again, let alone have sex with her. Maybe he'd go and then pretend to get sick or something, or make up some excuse about only stopping by because he was busy. Although then she might chuck a hissy, and Draco needed her to be compliant, he needed her to come to the theatre with him tomorrow night. Because if she didn't, then everything would go wrong, and he might _just_ end up losing Hermione to a bloke who deserved her.

* * *

Pansy had been drunk by the time he got to her place. She'd fallen all over him and babbled about pointless shit. Her kisses had been sloppy and clumsy and had only gotten as far as his cheek before she collapsed against his shoulder.

He'd pulled her onto the couch, stood awkwardly in the middle of the sitting room while he debated about throwing a blanket over her or not. In the end he hadn't, and had waltzed into her kitchen and helped himself to leftovers from the fridge. It looked like curry, it smelt kind of like curry, but it tasted more like bolognese. But either way Draco had been hungry, and knew it'd be better than anything waiting for him at home.

Then he'd left, writing a message into her phone, knowing she'd see it as soon as she became sober enough to function. '_Thanks for a good night and free food. Tomorrow, 7.00._' He just sure as hell hoped Pansy didn't think he'd be paying for her. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't a bloody date.

* * *

When Draco got home the house was dark, his father wasn't anywhere to be seen, and the dishes were done.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hey hey! Thanks so much to everyone who leaves comments - it's very encouraging! Hope you enjoy this chapter :)**

* * *

Hermione rifled through her closet, tossing things over her shoulder and throwing an ugly sweater down onto the floor. She stomped on it just incase it needed to know how frustrated she was, and then huffed to herself, her breath puffing up and tickling the short hairs around her face. She was having one of those annoying 'I-have-a-whole-closet-full-of-clothes-but-nothng-to-wear' moments, and every minute that ticked by just made her more irritated.

She tried to be rational as she slumped down on her bed. This wasn't a date, at least she didn't _think_ it would be a date. She didn't even know if she wanted it to be a date. She liked Theo, he was quiet, friendly, and rather good-looking, but not in the way that made her chest flutter and her knees weak, not in the same way that Draco—

Hermione groaned, tugging her hair away from her head until she could feel her scalp begin to sting. Now was _not_ the time to think about boys — or one particular boy — now was the time to hurry up and put some clothes on because she only had one hour to go before she had planned to meet Theo.

She sighed, grim determination setting itself into her pursed lips, and picked up a pair of jeans, flattening out some creases which were the result of being shoved into the back of a wardrobe for five months. Hermione's mum had gotten her these jeans, they'd been on a spontaneous shopping trip in the city and had been half buried beneath clothing in the changing rooms when she'd told her daughter, "honey, wow, your butt looks amazing in those jeans!" It was probably one of the most un-motherly like things Hermione had ever heard come out of her mum's mouth.

Now, Hermione smiled as she pulled them on, turning to flaunt herself a little in her full length mirror. They'd have to do, and she couldn't help but smirk a tiny bit as she acknowledged that yes, they did make her bum look somewhat… nice. Not that she was _trying_ to look nice for Theo, that is… But she supposed, if he did end up thinking she looked nice, then there was no harm in that… right?

She picked out a pretty blouse she was fond of, a cherry coloured one that was slightly snug fitting around the waist and had glossy buttons that Hermione liked to run her fingertips over when she was nervous. No doubt she'd be feeling nervous tonight. Meeting a boy was something she had never done before, apart from their completely innocent and studious library sessions… and that one time with Draco.

Hermione shook her head, mentally berating herself for letting her thoughts once again stray to Draco. She combed and smoothed out her hair, and then touched up her lashes with a light coating of mascara.

There, she thought as she turned her face this way and that to study her reflection. She'd do. Now all she had to do was make her way to the Theatres for her sort-of-but-not-really date with Theo.

* * *

Draco met Pansy a block away from the cinema. She was standing on the curb, every male head within a ten metre radius turning towards her as if she was the light to their wide moth-like eyes. Draco didn't think she looked beautiful, no one looked beautiful compared to Hermione, but he couldn't help but admit Pansy looked attractive, even if she seemed as if her five inch heels were about to send her face first into the pavement. Oh well, Draco wouldn't be helping her up if she fell.

"Hey," he greeted as he waltzed up to her, his knuckles grazing against the rough fabric of his jeans. He felt somewhat underdressed next to Pansy, who was nearly as tall as he was in her stilettoed attire and her figure fitting black dress.

"Hi, Draco. You're early."

He pulled on the sleeves of his jumper, glaring at the way her stare made him uncomfortable. "Yeah, so?" He needed to be early, he needed to know which movie Theo would be taking Hermione to see, he needed to be in the dark room when the bastard decided to make a move on her.

"Nothing," Pansy shrugged her slim shoulders, then slid her eyes to the side to peer at him.

"What?" He snapped.

She giggled. "Nothing. You just seem nervous. Don't worry, I am too, a little. I just never thought you'd be the one to ask first."

"Wha—?" Fucking hell. "Oh, right. Ugh— It's not a date, okay? Gee, I just wanted to see this movie and had no one else to go with."

She looked put out. "Really? Not even Greg or Vincent?"

"No."

"Must be some movie then, beyond their comprehension."

"Yeah, some movie."

"What is it, then?"

Shit. "Er — let's go in — it's a surprise. 'Sides, it's fucking freezing." He didn't wait for her to catch up, he didn't offer her his hand. She didn't ask, and that was good, because this wasn't a date.

* * *

The theatre was warm, Theo's voice was warmer. "You look nice," he said. Hermione's blush was the warmest yet.

They stood side by side, relishing the yellow heat that radiated from the churning popcorn behind the glass.

"Thanks," Hermione muttered, too low to be heard, "so do you."

Theo's lip pulled up at the corner, and Hermione tried not to stare. He was looking over her head, at the flashing movie display, his eyes flitting from side to side and reflecting some of the glow. Hermione found her eyes stuck to the prominent point of his adams apple, and had to make an irrelevant remark about math homework, just to distract herself.

Theo's chuckle made her feel better, she didn't know why, but then some of the nerves untwisted in her stomach, and she realised being with him was easier than she'd thought.

They chatted animatedly, Theo picked the movie, and Hermione just nodded, her hands wrapped around the warm box of her popcorn.

* * *

Draco felt his stomach coil as he watched the two of them stand far too close to each other than what was necessary. The growl in his throat barely made an escape as he angrily shrugged his way out of Pansy's innocent grip, her rejected hand falling limply to her side.

"Draco—?"

"I'll get the tickets," he managed. "Er— you have— your lipstick's a bit smudged." He gestured vaguely to her face, which was hidden beneath an immaculate slather of makeup, but still Pansy's eyes widened and she began to fret.

"Oh, shit. I knew I should've worn the lighter red. Dammit, I'll just be in the bathroom then. See you in a minute." She made a movement forwards, extending her neck towards him as if she were about to peck him on the cheek. Draco immediately stepped away from her, trying to keep his scowl from sneaking back onto his face. Thankfully, Pansy took his retreat as him not wanting to be smothered in red lip imprints, so she giggled and made her way back to where the bathrooms were.

As soon as she was gone, Draco stepped out from behind the carpeted pillar, shoving his hands back into his pockets and strolling over to stand just behind the sickeningly close couple.

Theo was quiet, listening, his long back blocking Draco's view of the screening sessions. Hermione was talking, more like rambling, and her voice seemed to bounce with something. Maybe it was excitement. Hopefully it was nerves. Crap, nerves weren't a good thing though, if she was nervous then that meant—

Draco cleared his throat. Once, twice, louder for good measure, and made sure to raise his eyebrows, quirking his lips to the side to feign innocent surprise as his friend turned around to look at him.

"Draco." Theo didn't sound surprised, the fucking prat. In fact, something about the way his eyes glinted, made him seem almost… smug. "Fancy seeing you here? Catching a movie are you, mate?" If the way his face twisted into a knowing smile wasn't already enough to set Draco's irritation alight, then the unspoken certainty behind his question was the fuel to the fire.

"No, just thought I'd sit in the foyer for a few hours. Nice and airy, you know?"

Theo chuckled, then seemed to right himself, his features flinching as if he suddenly remembered something very important, and moved a little to the side, bringing Hermione into full view. Draco desperately tried to stop his gaze from roving greedily over Hermione's figure, but then he caught the way her hands were clasped tightly together, securing a bucket of popcorn closely to her chest, and the way her bottom lip was caught between her teeth.

"On a date with Granger, I see." Apathy, perfectly laced with every word Draco spoke, yet Theo still looked at him suspiciously, that annoying smirk still firmly in place. Hermione's shoulders twitched when he said the word, "date." Interesting.

"And you, Draco? Out by yourself, or—?"

"Draco! Sorry I took so long— I dropped my lippy and—" Pansy froze at his side, her eyes darting from Theo to Hermione and then back to Draco again. "Oh. Well, hi." She nodded at Theo, but then her eyes slipped down to Hermione, and her whole face turned into a picture of disdain. "Hermione Granger. What a surprise. Found a new boyfriend already, have you?"

Draco guarded his features, but his eyes still narrowed a fraction when he looked at the girl he wanted to throw up against the nearest wall and kiss senseless. Every line in Hermione's body had gone almost rigid, and she had to clear her throat a little to find her voice. It made Draco want to smooth her hair away from her face, to ask if she was okay, but all he could do was wait with baited breath for her answer.

"Um—"

"Well, it was nice to see you two, but Hermione and I need to find our seats. Our film's about to start," and then Theo's hand came up to circle around Hermione's elbow, and he was leading her away— away from Draco, who wanted to clip his friend in the jaw for even touching her!

Draco didn't bother replying to any of Pansy's indignant questions, like "What is _she _doing here?" and "Is Theo _really_ dating someone like _her_? Doesn't he know what a filthy slu—"

"Pansy. Shut. Up. You're being fucking annoying." He didn't even stay to witness her shocked expression, he only marched up to the ticket box and demanded, "Two for whatever the last couple were seeing. Thanks."

* * *

Hermione repeatedly told herself to calm down as she took her seat beside Theo and placed the popcorn on the arm rest between them. The black screen widened as countless people began to mill in and grab their own chairs, and then the adds began to play. Hermione couldn't even remember what movie they were seeing. In fact, she thought she could hear Theo saying something in her ear, "are you okay, Hermione?" She nodded, at least, she tried to nod, but the movement only came off as jerky and unsure.

Maybe a little water would do her well, or some fresh air, was what Theo told her softly, and Hermione couldn't help but agree. She got up, her legs a little shaky, and left her handbag on her seat as she ambled along the row to get out of the cinema.

She didn't know why she was overreacting. She didn't even know why she felt funny. She supposed she was super embarrassed because now Theo probably thought _she _thought it was a date, that they were going as _more_ than friends. She was also slightly confused, and even a little hurt, at what Pansy had said. She'd thought Pansy and her were on okay terms, until just now. They had a few classes together and managed to pass each other in the halls with nothing more than a vague friendly nod of acceptance. Maybe old wounds were harder to heal on Pansy than they were on Hermione.

She tossed all these thoughts around in her head as she made her way across the lobby and down a dimly lit corridor that gave way to several bathrooms. She was just about to push open the door to the ladies' room when someone yanked her wrist, an arm coming to wrap around her waist and drawing her backwards until she was pulled into a wheelchair access bathroom. The door clicked shut behind them, a little red light flitting against the handle to show anyone on the outside that the toilet was occupied.

Hermione hardly had time to focus her eyes on the small flash of colour before her back was roughly pushed back into the door, and a warm weight came to settle against her front, a warm, hard body with a scent that was entirely familiar. His breath was hot, stirring the hairs at her neck as he nuzzled his face against her throat. His hands were still at her wrists, the pads of his thumbs dancing in circles over her skin. Then they were moving up, skating over the creases at her elbows and finally resting on her upper arms, surrounding her flesh and grasping tightly— almost too tightly — but the sensation sent every one of her nerves into a frazzle, she couldn't think — she could barely get enough air into her lungs due to shock — all she knew was that Draco was pressing against her in all the right places, and she never wanted to move away.

She wanted to move her head up, just a little, just enough so she could graze her nose against his, seal their lips together like she'd been dreaming of doing for weeks. She needed to feel him, _all_ of him, needed to have his tongue sliding against hers— but then he was softly speaking into her ear, his lips delicately grazing her sensitive skin, and she could barely register what he was saying.

"—you like him? Theodore, do you like him, Hermione? Please tell me you don't…"

Hermione couldn't answer — she could only gasp, because there was Draco's tongue, tracing the shell of her ear, gently — barely there.

"I… I—" His hands were skimming over her belly, around to her back, pulling her closer, and then his fingers were pushing against the curve of her bum, holding her to him, aligning their hips so she could feel —_ really _feel, every inch of him. She couldn't suppress her moan, and it ended up coming out as another strangled gasp. This wasn't fair, she needed to think, needed to ask him something—

"_Hermione?_"

"I— I don't… Why? Why do you care?"

A pause.

His lips at her ear again — his teeth around her lobe, his voice thick and rasping — nearly a growl. "Because. Because you're _mine_."

Hermione felt her heart hammer violently against her chest, she could hear her mind reeling, wanting to dominate the passion that was rapidly brewing in her stomach, ready to spill out at any second and demand that she just kiss Draco already.

_His?_ Something inside her melted at the thought, but a bigger part, her logical, and in this case, very unwanted side told her that something didn't add up.

"B-but—" dusting kisses across her jaw, over her cheek — it wasn't enough. "—you said… you said there wasn't—"

"Fuck what I said. I need you, Hermione." Draco's breathing was uneven, just like hers, and then suddenly his forehead was against her own, their noses touching. They stood like that for a few moments, maybe even minutes, their breath mingling in the darkness. His voice, calmer now, broke the silence, "Tell me, please tell me — do you like Theo?"

It was an odd question, everything about this situation was odd, and Hermione was only now beginning to realise what they'd been doing and where they were standing, and how there was another boy waiting for her back in the theatre, a boy who was concerned for her health, a boy who she'd pretty much walked out on. "Crap. _Theo_." Then everything came to bombard her — the room was too dark, Draco was too close, it was far too hot, she thought she might suffocate. She was confused, beyond confused actually, and she just needed to get out.

Draco had already taken several steps back during her silence, and Hermione quickly turned to unlock the door and pull it open. The light from the corridor threw skewed light across Draco's tall form, and Hermione stood for a second too long as she admired the pale halo of his hair and the way his eyes watched her with a detached desperation. "I…" Her vocal cords knotted together, she couldn't say anything, she didn't know what to say.

So she left him standing in the blackness of the bathroom, and it was only when she was halfway down the hall when she thought she heard the sudden thumping of a fist against a door.

* * *

"I'm so sorry — I, I just felt really dizzy all of a sudden. I'm okay now, though. What have I missed?" Theo looked at her strangely, his eyes brightly lit with the moving pictures across the screen, yet the way they seemed to drill into her head made her shiver.

But then he smiled, and she managed to relax a little. She listened quietly as his whisper filled her in on the beginning of the movie.

Hermione heard the words Theo spoke, but she couldn't remember what was said, maybe it was nothing, maybe it was a good deal of important things, she'd never know. Her mind was back in the dark little bathroom, where she'd left Draco, the boy whose scent clung to her like the past, whose face was the only thing she could see throughout the two hour film. Draco, the boy she… loved.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hey all, before we continue I just want to give a big shout out and thanks to 'ashley mercer 16' and 'theallwymonster,' who have been with this story since I started and have reviewed every chapter. Thankyou both so much, your eagerness is one of my biggest motivations in writing this story, and I hope you stick with me till the end! This chapter — a little longer than usual — is for you guys! xx :)**

**Disclaimer: all belongs to the amazing J.K Rowling.**

* * *

Draco didn't go back into the Theatre, he didn't go back to Pansy. He supposed that made him a bastard, but right now he couldn't really care. He'd been such a fool. He was _still_ a fool. A fucking idiot. He'd let himself get ensnared into the trap that was a warm smile in the face of a girl, her soft skin, which he'd touch a thousand times over just to listen to the delicate moan that would escape from her pink lips. He was royally fucked, caught up in her trap. Yet somehow, he found he didn't even mind. The worst part, the only part he hated, was that he wasn't Theo.

He'd never be the kind of guy who deserved such a shining smile that Hermione would surely give, he wasn't good at school — hell, he couldn't even manage to live peacefully at home with his own flesh and blood. He was the sort of guy who ditched one girl in a cinema full of people, and then walked home in the dark with his thoughts swirling around an entirely different girl — a girl who was on a date with another guy. That should piss him off, that should make him want to kick every light post he passed and curse every star that shone mutely in the sky above him. Instead, all he could think about was how lucky Theo was, to be favoured, to be deserving, and that the bastard better see Hermione home safely, otherwise Draco would smash his skull in. Alright, so that was a little violent, but Draco still laughed.

It was a sad laugh, full of many things that only the moon would witness, and when he finally came to a stop in front of the dead, barren lawn of his house, he turned around and walked back to the park.

There he sat on the swing, his shoes scuffing the tanbark with every half hearted sway of the seat. It could have been hours later, but when his phone beeped and vibrated in his pocket, it only felt like several minutes had passed. As he pulled it out, his fingertips nearly frozen, he expected it to be a message from Pansy, but his eyes widened as he saw Theo's name flash up on the display.

As he slid his finger over the screen to see what his friend had written, a second message from the same sender came in.

_Theo, 11.12pm: What the hell are you playing at? _

_Theo, 11.13pm: I thought you didn't like her…_

Draco scowled and tried to reply as quickly as possible with his numb fingers.

_Draco, 11.14pm: What are you talking about? _

He'd hardly hit the send button before another text came in.

_Theo, 11.14pm: You can't lead Pansy on like that. It's cruel._

_Theo, 11.15pm: I'm talking about how you left your date back in the cinema…_

Bloody Theo, confusing Draco since the day they first met, two boys with scraped knees and sour expressions, alone in the nurse's office.

_Draco, 11.15pm: Oh right. _(He took a deep breath before typing the rest.) _How'd yours go?_

_Theo, 11.16pm: You shouldn't take a girl on a date if you don't honestly like her. _

Draco glared at the screen, his mouth twisting. He waited for nearly a minute, expecting Theo to respond to his question. Nothing. Silence. Bastard.

_Draco, 11.18pm: So… you honestly like Granger then? _

_…_

_Theo, 11.19pm: My date went well, thankyou._

Draco cursed into the bleakness, resisting the urge to throw his phone onto the ground — damn Theo for being so infuriatingly evasive — and then got up and made his way back to his most likely deserted house.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was there, sitting on the sofa, his hands clenched together and his head bowed low. The lamp was on next to him, and he hadn't seen his son come in. Draco stood there, his feet immobile on the entryway tiles, his chest an uncomfortable thudding, angry mess. He didn't know what to do, should he creep past and pretend to be the coward he knew he was? Or should he do something stupid, like clear his throat and say something scathing?

He didn't need to though, in the end his father looked up, and when his eyes caught on the boy standing at the door, his own pale eyes took on the focus of uncertain shock. The weirdest part though, was that Lucius was dressed in something that could pass off as respectable — a suit. Sure it was an old suit, not the most tasteful in the closet, but then again nothing about the Malfoy life had been tasteful since his mother —

"Draco." Then his father was standing, his first step hesitant as if he didn't know whether to attack, or defend. Draco had already braced himself, his fists balled tightly, and his exhales came in short, uneven bursts. He mad to move, his sneakers squeaking on the floor, but then the words he heard stopped him. "Wait — son —"

And it sounded all wrong, foreign, _dirty_, and it made Draco's whole face burn and his temper flare, his fury burning beyond tepid at the way his father looked as if he'd made a mistake, as if he'd dared call the boy he'd beaten, his _son_.

And then all Draco could see was whiteness, a flashing of memories that made him want to choke and keel — the red face of a respectable figure, the first time Lucius had laid hands on his son, Draco's innocent eight year old shock, the look on the mans face, disgust evident — whether caused by his own actions, or his son's, Draco would never know. He'd been a small boy, short thin and bruised, and he'd never been brave enough, not until years had passed and the confusion over his mother's death had turned into a bitter, vile grief — a grief which wanted to cling to his abuser, to suck the light out of the man who'd gone from a father to a tormentor.

Now, Draco only knew the roar that tore itself out of his throat, "DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE CALL ME THAT! NOT NOW. NOT EVER!"

Lucius looked white, stricken. "Draco." His voice was quiet, tight, it made Draco even more mad.

"NO! NO DON'T YOU SAY MY NAME, DON'T YOU DARE — Y—YOU—"

"Draco…" It was a plea. Why wasn't he red with rage? Why wasn't he infuriated? Draco needed him to _hate_, to want to _hit_ — Draco needed him to _punish_ him — like he always did — like he'd done since his mother left them and Draco had cried, cried so much that he hadn't cried since.

Draco's voice was raw pain. "HIT ME YOU BASTARD, HIT ME LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO!"

"NO! Draco, listen to me — ple—"

"YOU COWARD — YOU SICK FUCK YOU'RE A BLOODY COWARD! WHY DON'T YOU CARE? YOU NEVER CARED — YOU NEVER—"

"I'm sorry — so, so sorry…"

And then Draco realised he'd been crying, hot tracks were smudged down his cheeks, his eyes stung, and he felt calm, like a strange, cold stillness had wrapped itself around him and made him feel only a detached, other worldly sense of distraught. "You're not." Was that his voice? It was too scratchy, as if another word spoken would make his throat bleed. "You're not sorry."

His father wasn't crying, people like Lucius Malfoy didn't _feel_ things enough to cry — but then, why were his eyes wet, why were they shimmering? Draco wanted his anger back, needed it back with a vengeance, because somehow, this quiet, lost looking Lucius was far worse than the spitting drunk he'd always been before.

Draco swayed, and suddenly he found he was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was go to bed.

"Draco—" Draco flinched, "will you listen to me?"

"Fuck off." Draco turned to go, he didn't want to listen, he wanted to go and stew in childish self pity.

"Draco, wait—"

"_What?_"

Lucius had gotten closer than expected, only a metre away, and it made the hairs on Draco's neck stand on end. His expression was hard, guarded, yet his eyes were intense, as if trying to convey some worthless promise that he expected his son to believe, just like the hesitant words that next came from his mouth.

"I— I won't ever hit you again, Draco."

Draco paused, then, "Do whatever the fuck you want. I don't care." He walked out of the room, and was nearly to the stairs when he heard Lucius' voice trail after him.

"I have a new job…"

Draco didn't reply, he only took the steps two at a time, and once he was locked behind the wood of his door, he blandly realised that the strange appearance of his father's suit had been explained.

* * *

Hermione awoke well past the rising of the sun the next morning. She'd most likely overslept due to the late hour she'd returned home last night — Theo had even gotten one of his father's employees to give the two of them a lift.

She was abruptly cut away from any further musings when the ringing of her cellphone reverberated through her skull, and she rummaged around the bed covers before she found it tucked under her pillow.

"Hello?" She said sleepily.

"Hermione — it's terrible, Harry's being completely mental!" Ron's voice was too loud for her sleep addled brain, and Hermione had to move the phone away from her ear before blinking a few times.

"Ron? Hi — what?"

"It's Harry! He's saying he won't come on camp tomorrow because — because Snape's one of the supervising teachers. I said to him that he—"

"Mr. Snape's coming on camp? That's so… un-Snape-like." She murmured to herself.

Ron laughed, but then died off as if realising his predicament. "Yeah… and you know, the thing with Snape and — er — Harry's mum, well… yeah… Harry's being pretty ridiculous about it, he's even saying he'll go tell Dumbledore!"

Hermione sighed, "I don't think it's the principle's job to get involved with his student's parent's business… especially their affairs. But do you really think Harry won't go? It won't be as fun without him."

"That's what I was telling him! But he won't listen, he said "go on, you and Hermione have fun." It's completely stupid— Ugh, there's mum calling me for breakfast. I better go, 'mione, see you tomorrow anyway."

"Yes, see you then. I'll give Harry a call and try to convince him."

Ron told her good luck, and then hung up. Hermione sighed, somewhat relieved that he hadn't asked about her night. Because if he had, she wouldn't have had a clue as to what to say to him. If Ron even knew that she'd been hanging out with Theo, he'd see red. She still didn't understand what Ron hated about the lanky quiet boy so much.

Hermione sighed again as she got up and made her bed, her hands acting merely on auto-pilot, as her mind was far off, caught in the recesses of a dark bathroom late at night, in the feeling of warm hands gliding up and down her arms.

_"__You're mine." _

She almost shivered as Draco's voice swam through her head. What could he have meant? As far as she knew, and as much as she hated it, he didn't want her that way, but his actions last night, and his statement, now had her thinking very differently. Why was he so damn hard to understand? And there everyone always was saying girls were the ones with such difficult minds! Hermione scoffed.

When she came down for breakfast, her parents were seated together at the table, newspapers and hot mugs in their hands. "Morning," Her mum greeted without even lowering her reading material. "Have you packed yet, darling?"

Hermione groaned. Her mum had been trying to get her to pack for camp three days ago, and she brought the term 'organisation,' to an entirely new level. "Yes mum, and don't worry I didn't forget the kitchen sink."

Her dad's laughter became a gurgle over a mouthful of coffee. His wife gave him a disapproving look, and then stared over the top of her glasses at her daughter. "Sarcasm doesn't suit you Hermione. I bet you haven't even gotten the suitcase out yet."

Hermione huffed. "No, I haven't. Really, I'm only going for two nights you know. You act as if I'm going off to Spain or something."

"Hermione, if you were going to Spain, then I assure you, you wouldn't have left packing until the last minute."

"It's not the last minute! I've got just over twenty hours mum—"

"You don't seem all that excited, dear? Is something the matter? How are your friends Harry and Ron?"

"What? They're fine, why?" Hermione asked as she poured cereal into a bowl and took a seat across from her Dad, who, at the mention of friends, folded his newspaper into a neat rectangle and began to look from his wife to his daughter.

"No reason, dear. Ron does seem like a nice boy though, doesn't he honey?" Her mum looked questioningly to her husband, who only gave a grunt which lacked enthusiasm. Any subject involving Hermione and boys, he didn't approve of. Hermione only rolled her eyes, remembering back to the afternoon when she'd been in the bathroom and her mum had been the only one to answer her phone for her, and who should decide to call but Ron Weasley. "Oh, Hermione. You never told us how your study group went last night? How's Pansy?"

Hermione's spoon froze on her way to her mouth. "Oh, yeah, fine — it was fine. We got a lot of work done." Pansy had been the first person to pop into her head when she'd lied to her parents about her whereabouts last night.

"And how's her mum going? Is Pansy looking forward to the trip?"

"What — oh, she's good yeah. Yeah, Pansy's super excited alright." She crunched the cereal louder than necessary, hoping to give off the message: I'm busy eating, stop talking to me, but it was to no avail.

"You still don't seem keen, dear? What's up? This should be a great opportunity to make more friends?"

"Mum. I know, it's great, it'll be great. I'll pack right after breakfast."

Not taking the hint, her mum continued, "that's good, then. Now, you do remember your father and I won't be home until Thursday? The dentist convention's out of state this year, it's a little inconvenient really —"

"I know, I know — Mrs Weasley will be able to give me a lift back home after camp. Ron's already organised it. Don't worry, just enjoy all the teeth, okay?"

They exchanged smiles, and then Hermione was free to eat in peace.

* * *

_Hermione, 9.33pm: Hey Harry, you haven't picked up the phone for my last few calls. I hope you're doing okay… Look, Ron told me about camp, and I really think you should just forget about Snape, even just for a couple of days. Then when we get back we can take things into our own hands? I really do hope you and your mum can sort something out… Anyway, Ron and I will miss you if you don't come — and you seriously can't think about leaving me to suffer his eating habits alone at meal times, okay? _

_Love H. _

* * *

_Harry, 9.56pm: Hi Hermione, thanks for caring. It'll be okay I guess, I just need to not look at the ugly bastard's greasy face… shouldn't be too hard really. I'll see you tomorrow morning.  
Harry :)_

* * *

Hermione ran through the school gates just as the bell tolled, her shoulder straining with the weight of her duffel bag — because _no_ way was she bringing a suitcase for a mere two day trip. She was out of breath, but managed to easily spot Ron's shock of red hair within the large group of twelfth graders, and hurried to reach her two friends.

She was ecstatic to see Harry, and by the look of Ron's grin, so was he, in fact he even slapped an arm around Hermione's shoulders, tugging her close and telling her "great job on convincing him!"

Even as the three of them conversed in friendly tones over the events of their weekends, Hermione found her eyes eagerly scanning over all of the people around her, looking for one particular person, a lean frame with white blonde hair. She couldn't find him, and her heart sank. She could see Theo, though, standing next to Crabbe and Goyle, who both looked thoroughly bored.

She made a vague excuse to Harry and Ron about going to check something over with Hagrid, and wound her way into the crowd before making a beeline for Theo.

"Hey," she said softly, trying not to attract the attention of Pansy who stood a few feet away, her back in their direction.

"Hermione," why did Theo look surprised to see her? He studied her for a few seconds, and then asked, "How are you?"

"I'm okay, but um — have you seen —"

"Draco?" His eyes were nearly the exact same colour as the sky, not even a speck of yellow or gold distinguished them as any different.

"Um… yeah, is he —"

"I thought you would have known." He weighed his words with wonder, and then gazed at her curiously. Hermione couldn't help but pay close attention to the crease in between his thick brows.

"Known what?"

"Draco has some very bad problems, Hermione. I doubt he would have been able to join us, even if he wanted to."

Hermione frowned, her stomach doing funny flip flops. "Problems? What problems?"

Theo's expression turned sad, and she couldn't tell if the emotion was directed at her, or at his friend's supposed issues. "Hm, strange. He's a lot dumber than I thought." He said it to himself, and Hermione began to feel a little irritated.

"Well, is he okay?"

Theo was silent for about half a minute, his eyes turned to the sky that so matched their depths, and hummed, as if trying to put off the inevitable of what he was about to tell her. "No, not really. He's not okay. Tell me, Hermione, does this camp mean very much to you?"

Hermione was puzzled at the question. "What? Um, I don't know — I mean, we don't even know where we're going. Why? Theo, what's going on?"

He gave her a small smile, yet something about it seemed a little forced. "I think you ought to go find him, then. Draco, I mean."

Confusion whipped at her insides. "What —" His eyes caught hers, and they were so… so piercing. Hermione almost felt uncomfortable, but the way they gripped her, as if begging her not to let go, seemed to shatter something into a kindling of understanding inside of her. "O-okay, but —"

"It's alright. I'll just tell the teachers you went home sick… It happens, you know. Real sickness." Theo sounded… hurt. It took her a moment to realise what he was referring to — how she'd acted at the movies the previous night.

"Theo, I'm sorry about —"

"Don't. It's okay, Hermione," he swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing, "Draco lives nearby. Go left from the gates and take the right at the intersection. It's the little white house at the end of the first turnoff."

"Theo—"

"You're a good person, Hermione."

What? Hermione stopped just as she was about to leave. Why was Theo acting so oddly? "T-thanks." Was she supposed to say, 'you too?' The moment didn't call for it, it seemed, because then, as if he'd known what she'd been thinking, Theo gave her one of those half grins, the kind that made her feel really warm, and then turned to talk to Goyle.

Hermione left. She didn't bother telling Harry and Ron where she was going — they wouldn't understand. She was going to find Draco, and they were going to talk, because she was sick of this game of ons and offs, sick of not knowing. She was going to find Draco, because she loved him, and she wouldn't let him hurt her again.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hi everyone, thanks for reading :)**

* * *

"I'm not going to kiss you, because you don't deserve it."

Draco felt like he needed to take two steps back and then close the door in the face of a girl who looked startlingly like Hermione Granger — she sounded like Hermione too.

Maybe he just needed to rub his eyes for a few seconds, and then perhaps he'd find himself back upstairs, in a bed he'd never vacated, with the insistent shine of the sun battling his tired eyelids.

But then the Hermione hologram was letting herself in, shutting the door behind her and taking a curious look around. Would she be disappointed with what she saw? Would it matter if she was? She wasn't real, after all —

"Draco…"

She even said his name like the real thing, with the last vowel lingering across her lips, waiting to be kissed away —

"Say something, you're worrying me."

Worried? For him? Nobody ever worried for _him_, it wasn't right, it wasn't _normal_. Maybe he should blink. He tried to, but it was as if his eyes were stuck open by glue. If he just tried a little harder then Hermione would disappear. Maybe he shouldn't, then, because a Hermione illusion was better than no Hermione at all — it was even better than the shaky images he conjured up when he was alone in bed at night.

"Draco? Are your parents at home?"

Parents? What parents? Draco didn't have any of those. His mother was dead and his father was —

"No." That wasn't his voice, it couldn't be, because he didn't even have parents to begin with, and he shouldn't be talking to anyone about them, let alone somebody who wasn't even real. "No. Now go away — leave me alone."

There was something though, something that resembled the Hermione he knew. It was that barely there twinge in her eyes, the slight way they glittered, the same way they did when he'd hurt her the first time, just like he hurt her with the words he just spoke. The Hermione in his fantasies didn't look at him like that, with sadness, a sadness _he_ inflicted, and nor did she tell him she wouldn't be kissing him.

"H-how are you?"

The Hermione he dreamt of didn't ask him silly questions, questions that didn't matter, that no one ever asked him. She never spoke much either, most of the time she spent with him in his head involved lots of kissing and —

But then his arms had reached out, snatched her like she was something he could no longer resist, and he was hugging her, holding her close. "I won't let go. I'm not letting go. You're staying here — with me, even if you're not real—"

"Draco—" She was pushing his chest, trying to look up at him, "What's wrong with you? Theo said—"

Everything dissolved. Hermione was here, in his house. Standing in front of him — in his arms. She'd said Theo's name.

"Hermione."

"Yes," She disentangled herself, and it made Draco's hands ache to clench around the void she left behind, "what's going on, why aren't you at school — for camp?"

School? "Fuck school." She flinched — dammit he made her flinch. Maybe it was Theo's name that'd made him want to say it. "I uh — I'm not going. To camp that is."

What would she do now? Cross her arms and look at him with a frown? It was what he was expecting, yet he was pleasantly surprised, as she only gave him a nod.

"Theo said you wouldn't be able to go…"

Theo. Bloody hell — Theo this, Theo that.

"Yeah, well, Bastard's never wrong." Ah, there was the frown.

"Don't call him —"

"Right, sor—"

"Are you jealous? Are you jealous of Theo?" It came rushing out of her mouth, and then her cheeks flushed a delectable red, her eyes drifting downwards with embarrassment.

Draco ground his teeth together. Was he jealous? Yes. Did she need to know that? No. Would it be beneficial to him if she did know? Maybe.

He let out a harsh breath, and with his exhale went his pride. "Yes. I am." But it was worth it, pride be damned, because her whole face lit up as if he was the whole fucking centre of her world, and it made his chest swell.

"I like him — I like Theo," a beat, an abrupt serge of anger, but then, " no — not like that, Draco. He's a nice person, and a — a good friend. But that's all, and I — I… Come on it should be really obvious?"

"What should?" He needed to hear her say it.

She glared at him, her face still rosy, but all of a sudden her features became stern, her lips pursed. "I needed to talk to you."

Draco shoved down his disappointment. "And you skived off school camp just to talk to me? I'm flattered but —"

"No Draco. Shut up and listen to me — and answer what I ask you! Because I'm so sick of not knowing whether or not you —"

"I what?"

"Whether or not you care!" Her hair looked mussed, or maybe it was just from the fiery way she yelled at him. "And why you've been such a — such an ass to me!"

How did they get here? Draco still hadn't gotten his hug — or his kiss. "Fine. So ask"

"I — what?"

"You said you had questions, so ask."

She shuffled on her feet, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "Okay… but, " looking over his should she said, "Can't we sit down somewhere?"

Draco, remembering where they were and who he was talking to, fidgeted until he stood blocking her line of sight into the house. "Uh — no. It's kind of a mess, so —"

"That's alright, I don't mind."

"No, really, it's— "

The door clicked open behind them and Lucius Malfoy walked in, an expensive looking yet tatty duffle bag slung over one shoulder, wearing a suit which appeared somewhat more refined than the one Draco had seen him in the other day. The man stopped short upon entering his house, his eyes dragging over the two teenagers in the entryway, lingering longer than necessary on Hermione.

A pale eyebrow rose as he looked back to his son, his chin tilting up a fraction, and Draco briefly noticed there wasn't even a trace of stubble. "Draco…" He sounded wary and nervous, yet still certain enough of himself to make his voice a notch away from a sneer, "aren't you going to introduce me to our guest?"

Draco didn't like the word 'our' when it was implying that he and his father belonged in the same sentence. It made him want to cringe. He scowled and grabbed Hermione's hand. "No. We're leaving," and he pulled her out the door, uncaring for the loud band it made in their passing.

Draco didn't stop. He didn't listen to Hermione's protests, or acknowledge her trying to tug her arm out of his grip. He didn't let go until they reached the park, tanbark crunching beneath their shoes and the wind screeching around the swings' chains. He dropped her hand, and she pulled it away as if burnt, her breath almost laboured. "Draco —"

"Alright! Ask." He threw his hands up, exasperated, slid them through his hair and pulled on his roots. And then he paced, back and forth, frowning at Hermione's huff as she slumped down on the swing. His eyes caught the way her arms shielded her chest, the way her fingers tightened around her jumper, and how her head tracked his movements. He slowed down, and he didn't know whether this was to appease her, or himself. "Talk to me, Hermione. Please," he sighed.

"That was your dad."

"N— yes — but this has got nothing to do with me being an ass—"

"Why did you leave like that? You should have —"

"I shouldn't have done anything. I don't want him to know you." Draco bit out, his tone harsh. Hermione looked hurt, and it made him freeze and recoil. "He — he doesn't deserve to know you. I don't want you near him. That's all I meant."

Her face softened, yet her eyes held confusion and sadness.

"Now please… Please don't ask about him, alright? This is about us—" He broke off at his own words, as if remembering the echo they caused in an empty room. _There is no 'us.'_

"Alright," she said, after a swallow. She wasn't looking at him, she was chewing her lip and kicking her feet. Draco stopped in front of the swing, knelt down so he had to look up at her. He wanted to take her hand, to breathe warmth over her cold knuckles, but he wouldn't — not just yet. He was going to say something, anything to encourage her, but then she was stammering, "Um… I — that is, uh — Draco. D-do you — I wanted to know if you like me?" _She_ was asking him? He looked up into the tawny eyes that were watching him with apprehension, with an anxious hope, and he started to laugh.

Hermione looked mortified. She started to get up, and Draco almost fell backwards as he jerked to grab onto her hand — control and patience be damned. "Stay — I — sorry. Hermione, I do… like you. Okay? What? Why are you looking at me like you don't believe me?"

The pink on her cheeks enhanced the spattering of freckles across her nose. Draco wanted to count them.

"Well, because Pansy."

"Pansy? What about her?"

Hermione frowned off the the side, pouting. "You took her to the movies."

"Theo took _you_ to the movies." Draco pointed out.

"That's different — Theo's my friend —"

"Right. Same as Pansy."

Hermione glared at him. "Theo doesn't like me like Pansy likes you. She can barely keep her eyes off you."

Draco smirked. "Same goes to you."

"What? That's not true! I —"

"You always stare at me."

"I do not! Who's the one who sits behind me in class and practically drills holes into my skull!"

Draco chuckled, somewhat glad the topic of conversation had moved away from Pansy. His ankles were starting to suffer under his weight, but that hardly mattered, because something inside of him was still soaring from the fact that Hermione really only saw Theo as a friend. Whether the same could be said about him, Draco wasn't sure. Although, he'd make sure to find out.

Hermione cleared her throat. "You kissed Pansy. I saw."

Draco's good mood faltered. Of course she saw, that was his intention. "That was nothing. I swear." Goddamn, he was a bastard. He didn't deserve her trust. There was a part of him that hoped she'd slap him and run away, yelling that she never wanted anything more to do with him. And he wouldn't run after her. He promised himself this, yet his conviction was weak.

Hermione seemed to mull this over in her head, her teeth still worrying away at her bottom lip. "Well, if that's true… Then how come you avoided me, and acted like you hated me?"

"Because I —" Why? Why did he? Draco didn't know, and every excuse he thought up in his mind immediately paled as it sought the tip of his tongue. The truth then? Or would she laugh at the truth? "Because I'm just fucked up, okay."

Hermione stared at him, and lifted a brow, but then she rolled her eyes. Draco rushed to his feet, blood surging through his head, and his face scrunched into a scowl. Her hand stayed him, though, she clung to him firmly, pulling him back down, until he was forced to collapse on his knees. He ignored the way bark and debris dug into his skin.

"Draco," Why did he feel so irritated? He'd told her the truth, and now she didn't understand him. Was that what it felt like — just moments ago when she thought he'd been lying? "Draco, look at me." And then there was a soft hand on either side of his face, guiding his head higher. "I didn't mean to make you angry. I just — I just thought it was a lame excuse for ignoring someone."

Draco grunted, yet his eyes still met hers — honey and molten and everything that was warm. And then he couldn't help himself, he was talking, as if he'd never stop, "Because. Because I don't deserve you. Because I knew I'd hurt you, and I did — I did without even touching you. And because you were just everywhere in my head — all the fucking time, and I hated you for it, but I loved it too. This girl I'd just met, who was everything good, everything beautiful and I — I knew if I touched you — you'd wilt — I'd ruin you. I _did_ ruin you. Theo was always better — _is_ better. He's good, he's smart, he's fucking _sane_ —"

"Draco—"

"You should leave, go on that bloody camp and be with Theo —"

"Draco!"

"Because if you don't then I won't let go, I won't stop until you're nothing and I've consumed all of you — until you're ruined. I'm dangerous, Hermione — I — I kill everyone I touch —"

And then he remembered, the words he'd been repressing for over seven years, words spat at him through the stench of alcohol and desolation. _"Your mother died because she couldn't stand you! She died because she left us — because she was sick of this house — repulsed by the child who brought her years of constant illness. If you'd never been born she'd still be alive. She'd be alive — sitting in that chair and reading — she'd—"_ And then Lucius had fallen, stricken with a screaming grief that his son could only stare and wonder at, his young mind not broad enough to comprehend — comprehend the words he'd only come to understand as a teenager.

Draco had stood by his wailing father, shattered glass all around them, under his bare toes, caught between his fingers. There was blood on the floor, some of it might have been his. He hadn't cared. He'd gone to the window, stood there until dusk fell, his feet numb against reddened tiles, waiting for the car that was crumpled in a ditch somewhere, waiting for his sobbing mother who'd left that morning, and would never come back.

Draco hadn't cried at the funeral. Neither did Lucius. They stood apart, a white coffin separating them — acting as the abyss that wouldn't be filled for years to come, not until a girl with brown bushy hair came into the life of the dead woman's son. And as Draco grew older, the words his father had yelled at him morphed into something entirely different, something he welcomed — a falsified truth. Narcissa Malfoy had loved him, and he'd loved her, but he wouldn't forgive her for leaving him with a man turned monster, a man who would make his life hell. It wasn't Draco's fault. It couldn't be. So he'd made it his father's. He'd turned him into an outlet for his hate, and the man deserved every bit of it, just like Draco deserved every punch, every slap, for being the child who permanently weakened his mother's body, for being the child of the man who killed her.

"It wasn't my fault — it wasn't! IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" And now, years later in a deserted park, Draco was crying, his words coming in retching heaves, his eyes so tightly shut they burned. He could hear soothing whispers — could feel soft strokes through his hair, over his cheeks, could feel the wind pushing at his back. His head was in the lap of someone he loved, and for a moment he thought it was his mother's, but then he heard a voice, Hermione's voice, and he'd never loved the sound of anything as much as he did then.

"Draco, it's okay… I'm not letting go, I'm staying, and I don't care if that upsets you. Because to me you're not dangerous — and you're not insane. Draco, you're just hurt. Badly. And I want to be there for you, whenever you feel like you can tell me — I'll listen. I'll be waiting, and I'll be there. I _promise_."

He dug his fingers into her thighs, rubbed his cheek over the denim of her jeans, relished in the warmth of her body — of her closeness— and in the feel of her hands over him, calming him.

Birds continued to sing, the wind rustled the beginning of the autumn leaves, and Hermione Granger comforted Draco Malfoy.

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**I'd love to know what you think so far! **


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Helloooo readers! I admit I'm guilty, because this chapter could have been up a lot sooner… but my life has pretty much been consumed by Emily Bronte's "Wuthering Heights." Oh gosh, that book. *Wipes tears.* To anyone who likes classic literature, I recommend it 100% !**

**Anyway, I'm on holidays now so I'll be writing way more and most likely uploading a lot more frequently! Oh and I will try make chapters a little longer after this one, but it's because of their current length that I can post them quicker.**

**Ok, on with the story ~~ :)**

* * *

"Now what?"

Hermione looked down at him, at the way her fingers looked tanned against his sun lit white hair, and noticed his pale eyes were pinned to her own. They didn't look icy, not anymore, the edges were red beneath his lashes, but the grey within his irises was deep and inviting. Normally it would be such a cold colour, yet to Hermione, at this very moment, it made her heart melt.

"What do you mean? Now what?" She replied quietly.

Draco sighed, "You probably think I'm a lunatic sissy."

Hermione frowned and gave him a slight tap on the back of the head. "No. I don't… But, I _am_ starving…"

Draco grinned. It startled her, the way the past few minutes of anguish could transform into such a smile in only a matter of seconds. But it was an off grin, as if below its surface there lay a hundred unvoiced doubts. Nonetheless, he got to his feet and stretched languidly. It reminded her of a cat, the way the sun enhanced every inch of him, like he fed off it. It suited him so much better than the dark.

Hermione watched as his arms rose over his head, as he lowered them to rub at his eyes, only to move them higher again, bringing the hem of his shirt and jacket up with them. She tried not to stare at the light trail of hairs there, yet her blush failed her, because when she saw him watching her he was smirking.

"So, lunch, then?" Draco asked, needlessly lending his hand to her as she pulled herself up from the swing. She still took it anyway.

"Lunch." She agreed. "Oh, uh, I just remembered, I left my bag back at the school with Harry and —"

Draco snorted, and it annoyed her because she couldn't tell if it was directed at her forgetfulness or at the mentioning of her two friend's names. As she was guessing at the latter, she reminded herself to have a word with him later about getting along with her friends. For now, she daren't say anything, because the hole his tears left behind in her chest was still rough and raw around the edges.

"We'll go get it, after lunch?"

Hermione blinked, surprised at his evident suppression of any kind of spiteful comment. "O-okay. Then what?"

"Then what what?"

"Well — we missed camp, so I suppose we have to attend school like normal, just as Slughorn said —"

"I'm not going back."

"Draco —"

"Not today. Don't see why you should, either."

Hermione sighed. "Exams are coming —"

"In three weeks, Hermione."

She had to pause when he said her name, it sounded good, and it made her want to shiver.

"Three weeks. Right. We still need to organise days to study in our off lessons —"

"Later."

"What?"

"Later. Forget everything till later. For now, it's just us, okay? Us and lunch." And then he grabbed her hand, and Hermione couldn't decided which sounded more appealing, his use of the word 'us' or the prospect of food to her very hungry stomach.

* * *

"Draco, can I ask you something?" Hermione sounded wary, and she saw that Draco noticed it, as he looked at her funnily over the spilling contents of his bagel.

He chewed slowly, and Hermione's eyes were drawn to the way his adams apple bobbed when he swallowed. Her throat went suddenly dry.

"Hermione, I thought we already went over this. Ask me what you want."

She didn't say anything, and neither did he for a brief moment, as if they were both remembering what had just happened in the park, and what they were desperately trying to forget as they sat in the quiet nook of a small cafe.

Hermione bit her lip, hesitant, because the last question she'd asked him hadn't gone very well. "It's just a bit — a bit personal."

Draco shrugged, feigning indifference as he chewed another bite. "I don't care, as long as it's not — not about family. Or any of that crap."

Hermione nodded and took a sip of her milkshake. "Alright. Well… how come you stopped being a Paperboy?"

Draco looked surprised, then dark, then became a mixture of the two as he tried to school his features. "Same reason I was being an ass."

He said it so seriously, with a sad little frown between his brows, that it made Hermione want to reach across the table and hug him. All she managed though, was to slosh some of her milkshake down her jumper, and give a frustrated groan.

When she looked up, Draco's face was a taught composition trying to retain its amusement. She scowled. His laughter burst free.

Hermione smiled.

* * *

Was this real? Or was this just a continuation of the dream which started with Hermione on his doorstep? He'd broken down like an utter imbecile, acted in a way which would make any smart person bolt, and yet here she was, the girl of his dreams, walking beside him as the sun began to set.

And she was grinning, her teeth glinting in the afternoon light as she told him about her parents. Draco liked to hear about her parents. He liked the way it made her whole face ten times brighter, and he wished that maybe there'd come a day when she would look the same way when talking about _him_.

"— and they're absolutely crazy about teeth! I mean, obviously, otherwise they wouldn't have become dentists. But they've even gone away for a four day convention — a dental convention! What sort of things do they even sell at dental conventions? Toothpaste? Dentures? — and they won't be back till Thursday —" She broke off abruptly, and when Draco looked at her he was surprised to see she seemed suddenly shy — her eyes were following her feet across the pavement, she was biting her lip, and her cheeks appeared too rosy to be a result of the cold.

"What's wrong?" He wanted to touch her elbow, to know if she was okay. Maybe she was sick of talking so much, maybe she wanted him to do the talking — dammit he was overthinking things. He stopped walking, and hitched her camp bag higher over his shoulder — they'd found it in lost property in the front office (fucking Potter and Weasel's fault) and the receptionist had given him a suspicious look, because Draco Malfoy was known for taking things from lost property that weren't his.

She still wasn't looking at him. What if she was replaying the embarrassing scene from the park in her head? What if — he shoved down a growl as he told himself to mentally shut up. "Hermione?"

She stopped too, and opened her mouth to issue a torrent of worrisome thoughts. "It's just, well I've missed out on camp, and what if the teachers don't now where I am — what if Harry and Ron are worrying about me? And what about my parents? What if they get called and someone tells them I'm not there? Then what will they think? They'll ring me and I won't know what to say — oh goodness, I've been such an idiot!"

Draco couldn't help but release a sigh of relief. This was all she'd been concerned about? "Hermione. Relax, it'll be fine. I'll text Theo. Bloke's probably already got it all covered, anyway. You said he'd tell them you were sick, right?"

Hermione nodded — but she still wouldn't meet his eyes, still had that gleam of heavy thoughts weighing behind her eyelids.

"And? There's something else? What is it?" And because he cared, and because he wanted her to tell him, he took her hand, and the feeling of her fingers tentatively wrapping around his was one he'd never forget.

"Well… I… I thought maybe… But it's nothing — I'm sure your parents would worry about you, so…"

Lucius? Worry about him? Bullshit. "What? Hermione, say it."

"Okay, okay. I — I thought since my parents are away, and because we didn't go on camp, that — that you could stay at my house. With me. If you want to, that is — I mean —"

"Hermione."

What was this feeling? This feeling that was building inside of him like a golden brick wall — brilliant and light and like every good feeling was going to come up and swallow him whole. It was like nothing he'd ever felt — and he was going to kiss her — because there she was, standing right next to him with eyes so wide he might fall in — fall in and never emerge, fall in and never have to worry about anything ever again. There was worry in her eyes right now, worry because he'd been silent for too long, worry because he'd interrupted her, and was now staring at her like someone helpless and in love.

And if she thought for a second that he might say no, she'd have to be crazy.

He gave her the answer they both wanted to hear, the answer that was tingling through the veins in his arm as he moved it to curl around her neck, pulling her forwards until he could feel the soft heat of her breasts as they pushed against his chest — could feel her breath as it passed against his jaw. And then they were kissing, open mouthed and hot and wet and everything that Draco had desired for the countless weeks in which he'd deprived himself of her.

He wasn't gentle as he grabbed her face, his thumbs dancing over her cheekbones, his fingers digging into her scalp and relishing in the never-ending waves of her hair, and his lips prising hers apart until his tongue could graze over her teeth — could taste and lick and just devour every part of her.

Her hands were in his hair now, pulling, maybe even ripping, but he didn't care, he only cared about her — and her warmth, and her lips — oh god, her lips. Sweet and soft and just — fuck — if there was ever something he could do for hours on end, could do for the last few minutes of eternity, it would be kissing Hermione Granger.

He didn't want to break apart from her, he didn't want to breathe, he didn't want to move from the spot that was just the two of them — but then a car honked as it drove by, and the driver wolf whistled and expelled a bout of obscene laughter.

Slowly, after placing one, two, three more kisses on her swollen lips, Draco moved back, resting his forehead against hers and dragging his thumbs back over her cheeks — why were they wet? Why was she crying?

"Hermione?"

She giggled, but it was also kind of a sob, and Draco didn't know whether to be glad or concerned. But then she laughing — laughing but crying too, and her golden eyes were so rich and welcoming and looked so goddamn happy that Draco didn't know why the hell they were still leaking tears. "Herm—"

"I think I love you."

I think I love you. Love. Him? Draco? No one should love him — no one had ever loved him before. He'd thought his mother had, but how could she, with such a son? Love. Draco loved Hermione, but he couldn't believe that a girl like her would — _should_ ever love someone like him. I think I love you too. Draco didn't need to say it. He didn't think he loved her. He _knew_ he did.

"I —"

But then he realised Hermione wasn't waiting for him to say it back. It wasn't a confession — maybe she didn't even know she'd said it. She was looking at him the way someone looked at a painting — studying the shadows and the nuances. What did she see in the portrait that made up Draco Malfoy?

"Hermione — I —"

She shook her head, told him to be quiet. He thought maybe she'd say he was an idiot, he thought that's what he'd like to hear, but all she asked was if he was sure.

"Sure about what?" His voice was quiet.

"Sure about staying at my house?"

He found he could raise an eyebrow, and with it went his spirits, higher and certain. "Of course." He smirked. Two nights alone with Hermione, it was an offer he wouldn't pass up for a million quid.

"Good," She grinned, "But there's one condition."

"Oh, yeah? What?"

"And technically you've already agreed, because you just said you were sure." Giggling again.

Draco moved his hands to her waist, held on tight, as if telling her she couldn't run away even if she wanted to.

"Sounds like cheating to me," he said.

"No. It was in the fine print."

What was happening to his mouth? Draco wasn't used to smiling — he smirked more than what was good for a person, yet smiling, this truthful, skin twisting urge to smile, was entirely foreign. He did it anyway — smiled — and it felt good, felt good to know it was only for her. "Is that so? You didn't ask for my signature…"

Hermione laughed, and to hear it felt even better than smiling. "You signed when you kissed me."

"Miss Granger," he pulled her closer, "I sense fraudery. But never mind, let's hear it then."

"Alright. You can stay at my house until my parents get back… as long as you come to school with me."

Draco growled in good humour, chuckled, and squeezed her. "You devious sneak."

"Goes to show, one should always read the fine print." She kissed him, slow, brief and perfect and then said, "We should probably drop by your house then. To get your uniform and things."

And every good feeling plummeted to the bottom of Draco's stomach. He squeezed his eyes closed, counting to ten inside of his head, trying to push away all his ill feelings towards his father. He wanted to please Hermione, he would go to school with her, but to do that he would need his uniform — he would need to go back home. He only hoped that his father wouldn't be there.

"Yeah. You're right. It's not far from here," he sighed, and the remembered something. "That reminds me, how _did_ you find my house this morning?"

Hermione looked alarmed, then brightened, "Oh, Theo told me."

Theo. Did he really have Theo to thank for all of this? He huffed, "Figures. Let's go then."

Their hands met, their fingers entwined, and together they continued walking, and for some reason, Draco found the fact that he was going to face his father wasn't nearly enough to outweigh the joy and excitement that kept begging him to smile at the girl he loved.

* * *

**I'm sorry not much happened in this chapter, things will get going in the next one — I promise!**

**Thanks for reading :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hey all, sorry for the delay as I haven't been feeling the best the last few weeks, and as such my writing has suffered. I hope this chapter's okay, and sorry it isn't as long as I promised — I'll try harder next time! Hope you all enjoy! :)**

* * *

Hermione stood back as Draco shoved his house key into the battered brass lock. It was set into a tall door coated with chipped, peeling white paint, and while Hermione knew it was the perfect picture of dilapidation and a family who didn't care, she couldn't help but admire its beauty. She'd knocked on it all those hours ago, hours that had made up such an eventful day, and looking at it now made her recall the feeling of splinters in her knuckles.

Draco turned his arm, unlocked the door with a twist of his wrist, and then pushed his entire weight against it before the wood gave with a groan. Little wood chips and dust mites rained down on them, and Draco grimaced and said to her, "I swear it isn't always like this…"

Hermione gave him a warm smile, because she was well aware of the discomfort he was feeling upon being back here, even though he hadn't told her, it radiated off of him in waves.

Draco took a step to the side to allow Hermione to enter first, but as soon as she walked over the threshold he grabbed her elbow. "Wait here, okay? I'll only be a second." His voice was almost a whisper, and it wavered at the end, but Hermione only nodded and watched as he ducked his head around the corner and into a room which she thought might be a lounge room, and then retreated down a dark hallway off to one side of the entry.

Her curiosity begged that she follow him, but at the same time she didn't want to pry into anything he might not be ready for her to see. So she simply waited. Draco hadn't bothered to shut the front door behind them, and it was beginning to creep towards her with a low creak. However, the fresh air blowing in wasn't enough to rid the stale smell that seemed to permeate the house. It was like dust, stuffy with both alcohol and disinfectant stuck in the crevices, and a very faint, underlying hint of cigarette smoke.

She couldn't see into the lounge room, although she could vaguely see the outline of a couch and a small table. Why was it so dark? It wasn't night time but the curtains were all drawn, and Draco hadn't turned on any of the lights as he'd entered. Was that how it always was? Did Draco always make his way through his own house in the dark? Did it always seem so closed up — so unloved? The dust was starting to tickle her airways, and Hermione had to place a hand over her mouth as she let out a cough.

She felt out of place, hovering by the door, so she pulled out her phone and was surprised to see she had three unread messages from Ron.

_Ron, 9.13am: Where r u? Bus is leaving!_

_Ron 9.21am: Hermione r u ok? Nott just told us u went home sick. Why didn't u say anything?_

_Ron 1.56pm: hope ur feeling better. Bus ride really long and shit… miss u _

Guilt warred with affection over her friend's concern, but Hermione didn't get time to reply because from the hall where Draco disappeared there came a sudden, muffled squeak of a floorboard, or maybe a staircase, followed by soft footfalls, and she jumped. "Draco?" He'd been even quicker than he'd said, but then a light came on to the left of her, from an arched opening which revealed the backdrop of a kitchen and the tall figure of a man — the same man — Draco's father, who she'd seen this morning.

"Um, hi…"

He stared at her, his lips thin and his chin tilted slightly, almost as if he were looking down at her, like it was the best angle from which to survey a teenager. He had Draco's eyes, although his were lighter, duller, and very unnerving.

This was awkward. Hermione cleared her throat, rapidly trying to urge her manners to outrace her curiosity. "I'm Hermione Granger, Draco's gir— friend. Draco's friend. Um — Sorry to intrude, Draco's just —"

He extended a hand — long fingers, just like his son's — and Hermione shook it. "Lucius Malfoy… Draco's never told me he has friends as fair as you."

Hermione blinked. What? Fair? Oh crap, now she was blushing. "Uh— Th-thanks. We — we haven't known each other for very long." They hadn't been on polite speaking terms for very long, she mentally corrected herself.

The corner of Lucius' lip twitched, and Hermione couldn't be sure whether it went up or down, yet his eyes were more calculating than haughty, and she found herself relax just a fraction.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, how does my son fare in his schooling? As I can only assume the two of you did indeed, meet at school?"

The controlled man in front of her would probably blush a shade rich enough to rival her own if he knew how they'd really met, but Hermione managed for her voice not to shake as she replied, "Oh, yes — we did. Draco's a very good maths student, in fact —"

She didn't get any further, because then the boy himself had stepped out of the living room's shadows (there must have been an adjoining door from the hallway) and immediately pulled Hermione behind him. Standing this close to his back, he seemed a lot taller, more threatening, and as she looked over his shoulder she could practically feel a growl rumbling between his shoulder blades.

"_Don't_. Talk to her. Ever." Each word was a venomous bite, an angry, contorted calm, and Hermione's eyes widened as she caught sight of the pulsing vein just below his jawline.

Lucius watched his son closely, and Hermione noticed something within his cold gaze had visibly fallen apart after Draco had entered the room, and uncertainty had taken its place.

Hermione put a hand carefully on Draco's arm, and for a moment he stiffened as if he was about to shake her off, but then the line of his shoulders deflated a little, and he turned away from his father. "Come on, let's go." He tugged her hand, guiding her out the door, and as Hermione looked behind her she saw the planes of Lucius's face shift into something like realisation. She didn't get a chance to say goodbye, because Draco had slammed the front door after her, and even more grains of wood came to settle in his fine hair.

Hermione wanted to reach up and brush them out, but Draco's face was a guarded mask of stone, and something in her chest ached with the fear that he might be angry with her.

He didn't let go of her hand, though, he just kept walking, his long legs covering more ground than hers even as he slouched under the weight of two duffel bags.

* * *

Draco was being a dick. He knew he was. They sat at a bus stop, bags at their feet, and even though he was playing with Hermione's fingers, admiring their slender length, their smooth pink nails, he hadn't said a word to her since leaving his house, and every now and then she'd sigh and look off to the side.

What was he meant to say? How could he tell her that he'd stood frozen in the shadows, one wall away from where his father had been talking to the girl he loved. How was he meant to explain his irrational fear that the man would strike her — hit her like he'd hit his own son. And Hermione didn't know, not one cent of it, and that had made Draco all the more scared.

He needed to say something, though, anything, because otherwise he'd ruin the night of bliss that was surely awaiting them.

He placed both his hands on hers, the one still on his knee, and when she turned to look at him there was something like relief in her eyes. "Hermione — I'm sorry about leaving you like that. And I'm sorry you had to see that — see him."

"Draco… your dad seemed nice. He — he asked after you, about school."

Draco snorted. "So? He was probably just putting on a good face."

Hermione laughed nervously. "Maybe… although, he did tell me I — that I was a 'fair' friend of yours. Whatever that means."

Draco felt his stomach clench and his teeth gnash together. "Yeah," he forced out, "whatever that means."

Their bus arrived, and Draco firmly resolved to push all thoughts of his father out of his head for the rest of the evening.

* * *

That was easier said than done, however, because after Draco followed Hermione into the warm memory that was her home, and the girl he wanted to push up against the wall, suggested they do maths homework, Draco found his thoughts straying into either a void of his own misfortunes, or more preferably, what he'd like to be doing with his time right now.

They were sitting at the kitchen table, Hermione's head studiously absorbed in her textbook, apart from the frequent moments when she thought he wasn't looking, in which Draco could feel her eyes glued to his face. It would be distracting, if Draco's mind was on the right task, but he couldn't help the fascination he felt with his surroundings — with the place that was so much a home it made his own cold, forlorn structure of a house seem like a mere emotionless wasteland.

There were photographs everywhere — three smiling faces emitting from every wall, bright, colourful paintings Hermione had obviously done when she was a child (as the Hermione he knew now would be caught dead before spelling her name; 'hamirny.' The thought made Draco chuckle, and as soon as the sound fell from his lips Hermione's head snapped up towards him, as if she'd been dying to do so if only given the chance.

"What?" She asked, caught between amusement and uncertainty.

"Oh, nothing. Just your drawings, and the way you spelt your name. It's quite adorable."

Hermione frowned, bit her lip, and gave herself away with a blush and a smile. Draco took her face in with every cell of his body, maths forgotten, and watched as she too, closed her text book, her expression one of pure anticipation.

His eyes drooped as he watched her slide off her chair, push it in with a tremor to her fingers, and then slowly make her way around the table — towards him. He could already sense her warmth, almost as if the blush to her skin was making him drunk, enticing him, and he couldn't let out a rush of breath until after he'd pulled her onto his lap.

Balanced across his knees, her long, luscious thighs (oh what he'd do to rid her of her jeans) were begging for his hands, to be felt and squeezed. So he did, grabbing them and using them as leverage to pull her flush against him — to angle her in just the right way so she'd be sitting against his rapidly thickening erection.

Maybe she got his meaning — maybe that's why she let out a shaky moan — because all of a sudden she was swinging one of her legs over his lap and shuffling forwards until they sat chest to chest, their mouths only inches apart.

As he closed his hands around her hips, as he ground himself up and into the heat of her crotch, he couldn't help but watch her — watch the way her dark eyelashes brushed over her cheekbones, the way her lips parted with a moistening swipe of her pink tongue.

Draco groaned, and then he kissed her.

* * *

Hermione felt bold, wanton. Gone was the girl who'd been failing to ignore Draco while she attempted homework — she'd been waved goodbye to as soon as Hermione had stood up from her chair.

God, she loved the way his fingers dug into her waist, the way they snuck into her hair as he forced her mouth open with his tongue. She loved how perfect they seemed to fit together, how her breasts were nearly flattened with her eagerness to be as close to him as possible. She loved how he didn't even care, how now he seemed almost scared to touch them, to squeeze them like he'd done on the very first night she'd found out his name.

So she grabbed his wrists and drew them upwards. He pulled back from the kiss for a moment, confusion alight in his hungry eyes — it made her almost desperate, that look in his eyes — and then she'd placed his palms over each breast, and Draco's confusion was replaced with the briefest surprise before doubling into a near incomprehensible intensity.

Hermione groaned as he rubbed over where her nipples were hidden beneath layers of fabric — a groan which almost turned into a sob as her little prod of encouragement had emboldened him to lower his fingers to the hem of her jumper, only to snake them underneath and up the bare skin of her stomach. He pushed the underwire of her bra up, and then his hands, warm and gentle, were over her naked breasts, his fingers sliding and rolling of her nipples.

The sensation made her shiver and rock her hips into his, and relishing in the sound of a growl from somewhere deep within him, she entwined her arms around his neck, stroked her hands through his soft hair, smoothed them over the tendons in his neck and moved them to grip his shoulders, to kiss him deeper.

She unzipped his jacket, wanting him to be wearing less clothes, but then arms were in the way — him still teasing her nipples and she trying to strip him. She pulled back, licked his bottom lip, sucked it into her mouth, applied pressure with her teeth and practically purred with the way it made him groan. But then his hands were back on her thighs, on her hips, and he ground her into him at the same time he moved upwards. She gasped, because she could feel his hardness, right _there_, where she was so hot and aching and wet and — "_Draco_."

"_Fuck._" It was a whisper, and in any other situation Hermione would have chastised him, but now it only made her more aroused, more enthusiastic in gyrating her hips down into his. The friction was delicious, she could feel it rubbing her sensitive spot, soaking her underwear. She knew she was flushed, but she didn't care, she only bit her lip and watched as Draco let his head drop back against the chair, exposing his pale neck and inviting her to lean forwards and kiss it. "Her—Hermione stop — stop moving like that or I'll — _god_." She didn't stop though, she only moved her hips faster, then slower, then faster, until the chair was squeaking against the floorboards and his hands had come around to squeeze and fondle her bum. Her jeans were in the way — too tight — she knew they were, because he grumbled and swore under his breath, but then he gave up with that, and instead tried to steady her hips. She wouldn't stop though, because she knew she was driving him insane, in fact, it was her goal to make him lose control, to make him —

"Fuck! Hermione stop I swear I'm gonna co—" She kissed him, a near bruising kiss, and she kept going, because the pressure on her clit was nearly as satisfying as watching Draco flush, swear and pant in front of her.

They kissed and they moaned and they let their hands roam all over each other, burning the way the other came apart to memory, until they were still, two teenagers with their lips touching, not kissing, just touching, feeling sticky and hot and sated and downright embarrassed for doing such a thing in Hermione's parent's dining room.

Draco's lip quirked up, and breathlessly he said, "You'll pay for that… First, I need a shower… and thank fuck I brought spare boxers."

Hermione giggled, but this time his language earned him a slap on the chest. The gesture was only half-hearted, though.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hi! Here's a sort of quick but short chapter... I was a little down because of some disappointing feedback I got for an essay which I pretty much worked my heart out on... *sigh* So I needed to vent and churn out something some amazing people will actually enjoy reading! So here we go, hope you all like the update. :)**

* * *

Draco tilted his head back, allowing the hot sprays of water to fall over his neck, his shoulders, his chest. He wanted it hotter, _needed_ it hotter. Needed it burning. Because he was fucking scum. Why? Because something that hadn't even crossed his mind until after he'd been mind blowingly dry-humped by Hermione was now ricocheting around in his skull like a rogue bullet.

He'd had sex with Pansy. Multiple times. Even after he'd met Hermione, even when he'd known he was in love with her. He didn't know if that constituted cheating, but what did he know about what went on in a girl's mind? What if Hermione would be upset if she found out? The few hours of happiness he'd experienced would come to a dead stand-still. He couldn't tell her. He needed to tell her.

He was a bastard.

Slumping his head against the tiles, he let out a sigh. He wanted Hermione so damn much, wanted all of her. It was a want which he'd assumed had been entirely innocent — carnal, hot, but innocent, until he realised what he'd done, reflected over his past actions and now saw them as the problem they would most likely be.

He'd had sex with Pansy, and he couldn't tell Hermione.

* * *

While Draco showered, Hermione paced the kitchen. She wasn't thinking about what they would eat for dinner, like she ought to have been doing — she was chewing her lip, feeling her flushed cheeks, and trying not to scream with frustration over the feeling of her soaked knickers rubbing against her thighs with every step. She wanted so much more of Draco, everything he could ever possibly be — everything he could ever give her, physically and mentally. What they'd just done had been brilliant, and dare Hermione think it… a little hot. _More_ than a little. But it just wasn't _enough_. And Hermione had never felt more ready.

So, making a quick and resolute decision, she pushed her hair out of her face, and went in search of Draco's bag. It was a bit of a guess, but Hermione figured this was the type of thing most guys kept in their bags, or wallets, right? She felt like quite a snoop as she spotted the black duffel bag on the kitchen chair, just below a heap of forgotten maths homework, and hesitated a moment before unzipping it.

She blushed as she moved aside a pair of boxer shorts and then rifled through his crumpled school uniform (untidy boy — she'd have to iron it for him.) There wasn't anything in the trouser pockets — thank goodness for that, Hermione wouldn't know what to think if Draco brought _those _things to school. Although, maybe classrooms and desks would be somewhat interesting to — she shook her head, quite ashamed of her thoughts, and instead looked into the inner zip pockets of the bag. Her hand closed around a small rectangular box, and immediately her heart rate picked up with excitement, before withdrawing the item and finding it not to be a box of condoms, but a packet of cigarettes. An open packet of cigarettes. A half _empty_ packet of cigarettes.

Draco smoked? Hermione frowned. Well, she supposed she wasn't entirely surprised — the smell had been vaguely prevalent in his house, but she'd just assumed one of his parents had been into the habit. Still, she couldn't help but feel a tad disappointed, and even upset — upset because such a trivial little fact that made up Draco had flown beneath her nose unaware. What else didn't she know about him? A lot of things, probably, and here she was desperate to have sex with him, rummaging through his personal belongings in the hopes of finding condoms. What would she have done if she did find them, how would that have made her feel? That Draco had been expecting this of her — that he'd been prepared with the assumption that she'd be ready for sex? How would she have felt if she'd found, like the cigarette packet she still clutched in her hand, a half empty box of condoms? Was Draco a virgin, or was he the kind of guy who always carried a condom around in hopes of the the perfect opportunity?

There were countless little intricacies, things that were waiting to be discovered between them, and all of a sudden Hermione saw it as more of an abyss than a gateway for possibilities.

She swallowed just as she heard the shower cut off, and she hurriedly stuffed the cigarette packet back where she'd found it and zipped up the bag.

Running her hands over her jumper and then redoing the clasps on her bra, which she should have done ages ago, Hermione tried to clear her head and make sense of her thoughts. If anything, her discoveries had only made her more determined — determined to fully pioneer the person who was Draco Malfoy. She'd make her way into both his mind and his heart, and along the way she'd formulate the perfect plan for getting what she wanted.

* * *

After Draco dressed, he came downstairs to find Hermione bouncing around in the kitchen, flinging open cupboard doors and unloading an abundance of ingredients onto the counters.

"Hey. What's all this?" He asked, coming up behind her. She jumped a little, and paused for a moment before swinging around to greet him, her hands beside her on either side of the bench top.

"Dinner. I thought we could make bolognese!" She replied enthusiastically. There was a light in her eyes, like a joyful golden flame, and he didn't miss the way it licked out to trace over his body. Her cheeks were still red, her lips still swollen. God she looked fuckable. Draco felt a familiar heat stir in his abdomen, and had to reign it in before his thoughts from the shower came to assault him.

"Sounds good… What about dessert?" He joked.

They smiled at each other, and Hermione said, "I thought we'd play a game?"

Draco raised his eyebrow, "oh yeah? What sort of game?" He was about to physically stop himself from taking a step closer towards her, but she moved first, turning her back to him and beginning to slice up a tomato.

She shrugged, "Oh, just 'two truths, one lie.' Have you heard of it? I reckon it'll be fun."

Draco scoffed. "Sounds lame."

"Draco, you can't just call everything you don't know about, lame." He could hear the smile in her voice. "Now, aren't you going to help me? Or are you okay with eating air for dinner?"

Draco eyed the way she sloppily cut up the tomato and then scraped it off the board into a pan. He grimaced. He was pretty good at cooking, what with having to prepare his own solitary meals for most of his life, albeit unhealthy and boring ones, which was why he hated it.

As it turned out, though, Hermione needed him, because she was a terrible cook, and the next two hours were some of the funnest Draco could ever remember having — even though his shirt was now stained with pasta sauce and the food had nearly been burnt twice.

The kitchen was full of him admonishing her culinary abilities, her berating his conduct, but ultimately; food fights, and the laughter of a budding harmony between two people.

* * *

Hermione twirled pasta around her fork, eyeing the way Draco's hair stuck up in its barely dry state. He'd been pretty hard to ignore when he'd first come out of the shower — sweat pants hung low on slim hips and a plain white shirt, with a tangled muss of dripping hair which Hermione had wanted to squeeze and tug dry. Now, he sat across from her, their feet touching beneath the table, and there was a smudge of sauce on the side of his jaw which Hermione had to stop staring at with the desire to lick clean.

The spaghetti was surprisingly good, and Hermione figured Draco thought so too by the looks of his rapidly diminishing bowl. "We did a good job."

He looked up at her, finished a mouthful, and grinned. "_I_ did a good job."

Hermione snorted, "I had the recipe down pat, without me you would have just eaten cheese on pasta."

Draco laughed and then wiped his face, although he still missed the sauce on his cheek. Hermione tried not to stare at it as he said, "And without me, you would have burnt the house down. Oh, and by the way, cheese on pasta's actually pretty good. It's called 'macaroni and cheese.'"

"Really?" She quipped with a half hearted roll of her eyes, "I think it's called calories on a plate, if you ask me."

"Good thing I didn't ask you, then."

Hermione kicked him under the table, and his fork clanged against his bowl as he chuckled with mirth.

"Just for that, I'm going first. Pick the lie…" She thought for a moment, chewing slowly. "Alright. My dream is to have a pet cat. I've been on holiday in Australia. I'm scared of heights." She smiled smugly to herself, presuming Draco would have a tough time guessing this one.

She watched as he frowned thoughtfully at the table, an endearing crease between his brows, and then took up a sudden look of satisfaction. "Seeing as you make this game incredibly easy, I propose we introduce a point system."

"Point system? Okay. What does the winner get, then?" She had a feeling she already knew, and by the way Draco's smirk became wider, her guess was most likely correct.

"As many kisses as they have points."

Hermione giggled. "But that's not very fair. Either way, whoever loses will still end up getting kissed back." Her stomach flipped at the way his eyes glinted with her words.

"Fair point. Okay then, how about the winner gets to decide _where_ they want their kisses?"

"Deal."

"Alright, that's settled then. You've never been to Australia."

"I — what? Cheater! How'd you know?"

He shrugged and said carelessly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Easy. There's not one souvenir, or Australian picture around the house, and seeing as your family seems the type to photograph milestones and important events," his eyes flicked to the framed walls, "it'd be a no brainer for them to display evidence of such a holiday." He sat back, completely content with his answer.

"Hmph," Hermione mumbled, put out that he'd seen through her so easily.

"Although, I find it quite amusing that you're afraid of heights."

"You would, wouldn't you?" She laughed.

"And cats, really? Why would you want such a stubborn, annoying creature." She pulled a face, but ignored him, until he went on. "You better be recording these points, Hermione." His voice was low and smooth, and it made her shiver.

"Don't worry, I am," she took up a pen and notepad from the end of the table, and scribbled both their names before adding a dash beneath 'Draco' with a pout. "Your turn."

She was trying to seem indifferent on the outside, but internally she was rejoicing over the fact that there was no way he'd be able to avoid getting personal over this game.

"I'm part french. I used to play soccer. I've never had a pet."

Hermione hummed in contemplation. "Well, considering your last name sounds french, and you're a very competitive person who I could see enjoying sports, I'd say that you're lying about the pet."

"Wrong."

"You're not part french?"

"No, I am. I've never played soccer," he shrugged, and reached to pull the paper over to record his point.

"You haven't? But why? I thought all boys liked —"

"Yeah well, my father was never one for showing me that sort of stuff."

Hermione let out a shaky breath. This had been what she wanted, to know more about him. She couldn't stop now. "W—what does your dad — and your mum — what do they do?"

His eyes flashed, his whole face did, and for a second he looked nearly unrecognisable. But then it was gone, and his eyes were on the ceiling, his body slumped back in his chair. "This isn't part of the game, you know."

"Oh — yes — right. Sorry. Okay… My turn. I love cooking, my favourite —"

"Sorry. It's my fault. I'm just — just not used to…" He sighed, but grabbed her hand in his. "I — I dunno what my dad does. He only just got a new job and I guess he hasn't been round much to — I haven't asked."

Hermione nodded sadly. "I shouldn't pry — I told you today I'd listen whenever you're ready, but, I guess I'm just… just not used to this. To being with someone and hardly knowing anything about them. It's a bit strange and I've never been in a relationship before and —"

"Is this still your turn?" He smirked, but there was something resigned in the lines around his mouth.

"Have you?" Hermione blurted before she could stop herself. She felt her face colour.

"Have I what?"

"Been in — been in a relationship?"

Draco looked at her strangely, unsurprised, yet hesitant. "No. I haven't."

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, relief making her smile. Draco returned the expression, and their game continued. Needless to say, Draco won.

* * *

Draco had won twenty three kisses, and that night he used up sixteen of them. Fuck he'd missed the night he'd spent in Hermione's bed, warm and wrapped around her, her sweet scent making him almost drunk.

Her nighty was thin, and through it he could feel her hard nipples press against his bare chest. God, she wasn't wearing underwear either — he could tell when he ran his hands up the back of her thighs as she lay atop of him, all he could feel was soft, supple flesh.

He cupped her bum through the scanty material, groaning at the way it slid over her round curves, growling as he gripped her thighs and thrust his cloth covered dick up to where she was wettest.

"Where shall I kiss you?" She asked around a gasp. And then he made her distract him from both the lie he'd told, and the truth he hadn't told.

* * *

Hermione found out that Draco was sensitive in many places. Kissing and biting his earlobes made him squirm, sucking his neck and collarbone made him moan and writhe, and kissing his nipples and chest made him pant.

Hermione wanted to kiss further, lower, to pull down his pyjamas and kiss the hard length she so desperately needed in her body. But as soon as she brushed her lips over the fine hairs beneath his belly button, he pulled her back up, possessing her lips once more.

After that, it seemed as if all his effort went towards trying to get her to sleep, curling himself around her back, smoothing her hair and kissing her head, but all she could do in return was press her bum backwards and tease his erection.

Eventually, she thought she'd succeeded, because after several deep, husky breaths, Draco had abruptly shoved her over onto her stomach and straddled her bum. But all he'd done was massage her muscles until she felt like she'd melt into a never ending pit of sleep.

She yawned and nuzzled his shoulder, hazily attempting to call out his dirty trick, but then she was dropping off into slumber, and she never got the time to ask him why he'd stopped her.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please leave me your thoughts!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Yay I updated quickly!**

* * *

Draco sat back on the bed, his weight propped up on his hands and his head following Hermione's haphazard movements as she raced around her room. They'd overslept, and although Draco couldn't give a damn, he was rather amused to watch his girlfriend's fretful hurry in getting ready for school which had begun the moment he'd kissed her awake and she'd realised the sun was already shining.

His mind tossed the word 'girlfriend' around, trying to decide whether he liked it or not. While he supposed it was apt, and Hermione was indeed, _his_ girlfriend (damn him and every other entity if she were someone else's) it wasn't good enough. It was cheap and tacky and belittled every strong feeling which radiated out of his chest and begged to be known by the girl now groaning and trying to tame a very messy bush of chocolate curls.

He sighed to himself, wondering when he'd gotten so romantic as to think the word 'girlfriend' held no meaning, and when he'd started to debate with himself over the decision to share his feelings. Feelings? No, thoughts. No, actions. His actions were the problem — his past actions. They were like the metaphorical little red devil sitting on his shoulder, tugging his earlobe and waiting to be told to piss off. Draco could have had Hermione last night, and he'd even be as arrogant to wager he could have her now if he really we wanted, school be damned. But that was the problem, he _did _want to, he wanted to _so_ fucking much it nearly hurt, and he knew Hermione wasn't the one who was concerned about virtue, what with the way she'd physically hinted at the idea of giving him a blow job last night. God. Draco had already showered that morning, he didn't need to go for another one — but the thought of Hermione's warm, soft mouth around that part of his anatomy was starting to become awfully hard. Literally.

He stifled a groan, and Hermione turned to him, exasperated, as she flung down her hairbrush. "What!? What's the matter with you? Sitting there and huffing and puffing like an old man! You could at least help! This_ is_ your fault, after all."

Draco snorted and gestured down to his uniform, displaying the fact that he was already organised. "How is this my fault?"

"You made me so tired that I didn't have time to set my alarm!"

"Hermione, relax. Class will probably start late, anyway. In fact, there probably won't even _be_ a class," Draco wasn't embarrassed that the last part came out as a whine. _He _wasn't the one who wanted to go to school.

Hermione ignored him, and bent down to retrieve her shoes. Draco resisted the urge to let his eyes linger on the way her skirt rode up, as his trousers were already tight enough — what with his earlier thoughts, and prior to that, the memory of Hermione's complete unabashed act of getting changed in front of him due to her haste. (Hence the cold shower.)

Her voice carried over her shoulder to him, "You could at least be downstairs, packing our bags. Or maybe getting lunch ready?"

Draco made a face. "Screw lunch. There's a cafeteria."

Hermione straightened and turned to him, her arms crossed. "The bags, then?"

Draco sighed, but her pose made him release a smile. Standing up, he said, "Fine. But you still owe me."

"Owe you what?"

"Seven kisses." He grinned as he walked past her and out the door. He saw the stern look she aimed at him, but the giggle she let out afterwards followed him down the stairs.

* * *

Draco had been right, class didn't start until ten minutes after they got there — a good half an hour past its usual commencement — and they ended up being the only students staying back from camp, along with a boy who had dirty sand-coloured hair, who Hermione didn't normally have any classes with and didn't know at all.

His name was Zacharias Smith apparently, as they found out when Ms McGonagall yelled at him for picking his nose and hiding the evidence under the desk, and through the group work they were forced into, Hermione found out he talked a great deal, his voice droning and often quite judgemental — so much so that she had to ask him to be quiet when he was halfway through a critique on the teacher's choice of content. Draco, who was much less concerned with showing his contempt for people he didn't like, chuckled and smirked beside her, and had earned a glower from Zacharias.

It was only when the bell to lunch sounded when Hermione finally recognised the irritating boy. She thought it was probably the pimples that gave him away, but as they were heading out of History she stopped in her tracks, apologised to a by now, very fuming Draco who had collided into her back, and said, "I know you! You live across from me…"

Zacharias blushed and shoved his hair out of his face, hitching his books higher against his chest. "Uh — yes, that's right."

From the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Draco immediately perk up with interest beside her. "You never said anything. I would have —"

"Well — we don't have any classes together. Besides —"

She nodded and thought for a moment as she continued walking, weaving her way through the exodus of twelfth formers when she supposed she might as well just get over the awkwardness and say it. "You're the one always looking across the street, into my window."

She heard more than saw Draco came to an abrupt, jarring halt next to her, as he dropped their textbooks at his feet and quickly stooped to pick them up before yelling, "_What_!?"

Zacharias was bright red, spluttering as if trying to come up with something to say, but didn't get much of a chance before Draco had thrown him against the corridor wall and gripped a fistful of his collar. "He _what_?" His voice was a deadly seethe, his eyes looking at Zacharias, but his question directed at Hermione.

Hermione swallowed nervously, laying a hand on Draco's shoulder and glancing anxiously around them, as they were on the receiving end of some eager stares from other students, who were just itching to witness a fight break out. "Draco, don't—"

"You said this fucking perve watches —"

"She's wrong! I swear," Zacharias pleaded, his face now quite pale, a stark contrast to his numerous zits. "I swear — that's not it — there's — there's this nest outside — in the tree and —"

Draco growled. "A nest!?"

The other boy nodded furiously, "A nest — yes. It belongs to a rare bird species that I've been quite interested in—"

"A fucking bird's nest?" Draco was calmer now, and his eyes darted to the side to give Hermione a quizzical look. Zacharias nodded again, and after Draco reluctantly loosened his grip, the half strangled boy slumped with relief.

And then Hermione giggled, because the crowd around them had long since dispersed due to the lack of action, because poor Zacharias, even if she didn't quite believe his excuses, looked as if he'd just escaped the firing squad, and mostly because she had never believed she could make Draco become so insanely jealous.

They left Zacharias straightening his uniform, pleased to finally escape his presence, and Hermione gleefully listened to Draco mutter things like 'fucking pervert' and 'bloody nest' right up until he spontaneously grabbed her hand and lead her to a gorgeous little secluded courtyard, a place she never even knew existed.

There they sat in the dappled sunlight on the brickwork, and Hermione wondered aloud with marvel at how Draco had time to prepare leftover spaghetti sandwiches before they'd left.

His grin was cocky, and the light played with his hair in a way that made it look like snow. "I'm full of surprises, my dear."

Hermione figured that that was the definite truth, and she laughed and leant across the bench to kiss him on the cheek, promising herself that she'd make sure to uncover every single surprise Draco Malfoy had to offer, both big and small.

"Still six left to go," he said.

And Hermione thought that maybe her plan would work, after all.

* * *

Draco watched as Hermione unwrapped the little portion of sandwich she'd kept from lunch time.

"What are you doing?" He'd asked when he'd seen her saving it.

Hermione had told him, "It's for the stray kittens and their mother. I always feed them, every Tuesday afternoon."

Draco had raised his eyebrows, but hadn't questioned his crazy cat lady further.

Now, after following her out of the school gates and around the block, down to the water floodways, he stood with his hands in his pockets as Hermione kneeled on the bank and made a series of strange chirping noises.

He was about to say something insensitive, like the cats were probably lost or dead, when he heard an excited mew precede three kittens out of one of the smaller drain pipes.

"Oh," Hermione moaned, "There were five last time. The poor things… it must be the cold weather. And I haven't seen their mother in weeks." She broke the sandwich into small bits and threw them down to the little animals, who gobbled up the morsels with great gusto.

Draco, who wouldn't normally care much about animals, somehow found the welfare of the tiny pests important, most likely because they were important to Hermione, and hoping to please her, he said, "We should feed them more often. My place is close by, and my dad won't notice if food goes miss—" He was cut off, because suddenly there were arms around his neck and Hermione was squeezing and kissing him.

When they broke apart, Draco could only shake his head and wonder at what went on in the mechanisms of a female mind.

* * *

"What a day," Draco said as they got off the bus, one stop further than usual in order to visit the corner store, because Hermione adamantly insisted they needed to buy something healthy for dinner, (although, her intentions were hardly as innocent, but she wasn't about to tell Draco she wanted to buy condoms.) "Cats and Zacharias Fucking Smith— hey!" Hermione had hit him on the arm. "What? Don't defend the bastard!"

"I'm not defending him, and even so, he didn't deserve to be strangled in front of an audience!"

Draco laughed, as if the prospect was a very welcoming one, and Hermione glared at him. "I didn't strangle him — not quite. Either way, he had it coming, spying on my girlfriend — er…"

Hermione stared at him, and he ran a hand through his hair. Did Draco really think of her as his girlfriend? Hermione beamed at him, and pressed their palms together beneath their entwined fingers.

She couldn't help but watch the transformation of his expression through stolen side glances, as he went from embarrassed to awkward to relieved.

Hermione smiled stupidly at the pavement.

* * *

"Would you mind unpacking these while I go change?" Hermione asked, gesturing to the two shopping bags, both of which Draco had insisted on carrying for her. They'd bought vegetables, noodles and some chicken fillets, enough to make a tasty stir fry, and just after walking out of the shop Hermione had mustered up her best acting skills and said she'd forgotten to get shampoo, and that Draco should wait outside because she'd only be a second.

Glad that he hadn't seen right through her, Hermione had dashed back inside and grabbed a bottle of her usual shampoo for her charade and had then stood gaping awkwardly at the vast array of brightly coloured condom boxes. Gosh, which ones was she meant to get? And how on earth was she meant hide such an obvious package from Draco? Quickly, so as not to raise his suspicions, she picked a box of 'regulars,' because her blush was already deep enough with the thought of paying for this at the checkout without the excess embarrassment of choosing a strawberry flavoured brand or the glow in the dark kind. She'd payed, averting her eyes from the very nonchalant girl at the register, who'd only continued to chew gum as if the item she scanned was as bland and boring as a blade of grass.

Then, before exiting the store, Hermione had tried to flatten the edges of the box as much as she could before shoving it down the side of her bra. For once, she'd wished Draco hadn't been so chivalrous as to insist on carrying her school bag, as it would have been the easiest and most sensible hiding place. She'd only hoped the way she kept her arm in place over the side of her chest wouldn't be so obvious.

Thankfully, Draco hadn't noticed a thing (or if he did, he was a master at hiding it.) He'd only taken a peculiar yet keen interest in the shampoo she'd chosen, and had frowned at the label with wonder before slipping it into one of the shopping bags.

Now, back in her kitchen, Draco said, "Sure, no problem. Although, I'd rather come and watch."

Hermione's cheeks flushed, as she was quite aware of her own intentions, and forced out a nervous giggle, before leaving Draco to unpack the shopping. (A simple yet somehow endearing act of domestic simplicity, which at any other time would have invited Hermione to spend hours dwelling upon the warmth it conjured in her stomach. Right now, however, she was much too nervous to focus on how cute Draco looked studying the shampoo bottle as he took it out of the bag. After her plan succeeded, she'd definitely remember to ask about his fascination with it.)

Her heart pounded with furious excitement as she made her way up the stairs.

* * *

Draco felt like whistling as he opened cupboard after cupboard, trying to suss out the layout of Hermione's kitchen and figure out where the noodles belonged. Fucking bizarre, he wasn't even a good whistler — in fact, he usually despised the people who _did_ whistle. Because how dare they appear so unbelievably happy in his presence — a presence which was so used to dreading the doom and gloom that he associated with the dreary barren walls of his own bedroom. Today and yesterday, however, he'd spent most of his time counting down the hours until he'd have Hermione back in his arms, surrounded by the books and the yellow walls and the cute photographs and the warmth that made up the sanctuary of _her_ bedroom.

His day would have been a morbid one if it hadn't had her in it, if she hadn't made him promise he'd go to school. And somehow, he found he worked better with Hermione right next to him, with her elbow touching his, and their thighs occasionally brushing together. He felt regret that it'd only last one more day, and then on Thursday their classed would be back to normal, filled up with stupid fuckwits like Potter and Weasley and Draco's own ignorant friends— although, Draco grudgingly acknowledged that he owed Theo thanks, because if it hadn't been for him, Hermione would never have ended up on his doorstep, and he wouldn't be where he was now — heading up to her bedroom to hopefully glimpse the last stages of her dressing.

Draco smirked to himself as he opened her door. He didn't think of knocking — of course he didn't think of bloody knocking, why should he?

Because as soon as he stepped into the room his eyes were immediately drawn to Hermione Granger — lying completely naked on her bed, one hand on her breast and the other between her thighs. And as Draco's name escaped her lips on a whispered moan, the boy himself felt his mouth go dry and his cock stiffen — and every ounce of rational thought as to why he didn't deserve this, why there was still something very important to be said, drifted away into oblivion.

* * *

**dun dun dun… XD**

**I'm on such a roll with plot ideas! I've got the next chapter already written out, and if you're all very eager I just *might* update again soon! heh heh.**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Okaaaayy so… nearly an entire chapter of sex ahead. (It's necessary, I promise XD) You've been warned — skip if you must. *Blushes and hides behind hands***

**(Oh! And thankyou so much for all your kind reviews!)**

* * *

Hermione Granger was touching herself — her knees were up, her legs spread — and Draco Malfoy had never seen anything sexier, anything _so _goddamn beautiful in his entire life. He knew she'd seen him come in, and he knew she was putting on a show, doing this on purpose as if her aim was to thwart him and send him spiralling down to his knees.

He watched, his mouth now watering with the need to go to her, to kiss her and lick her and to take the place of her fingers, but he couldn't move. He could only stand there, his mind nearly numb and his erection painful and leaking. He had to resist — he just _had _to. But how could he, when the girl of his dreams wanted this as much as he did? _Needed_ it, as much as he did?

He couldn't think — could only feel the blood pound in his cock and the heat begin to hunt along every inch of skin. Then he saw her throw her head back, expose the delicate column of her neck that he wanted to suck and bruise, heard her moan his name as she twisted her own nipples — and he couldn't do it. Couldn't resist. Because he was weak.

He stepped forwards, barely registering his actions as he closed the door behind him, as he peeled off his jumper and loosened his tie — he couldn't take his eyes off her, not even when her own lust filled orbs locked onto his, and begged him to come closer, to take her, to have every inch of her.

He couldn't resist. Because he was weak. He'd repeat that to himself, make up excuses and go over them in the darkness, hours later.

But right now, he didn't care. There was only her — only Hermione.

* * *

Hermione's fingers were slicked with her own wetness, her clit was swollen and throbbing, and she was _so_ close to yelling at Draco to hurry the hell up and come and make love to her already — because as far as Hermione was concerned, she was ready — beyond ready to have Draco inside of her. And she was certain, that like he'd said on the first night they spent together, that he would never hurt her. Any wrong-doing would pale in comparison to the lust and desire which came in the package-deal with her love for Draco. So she only moaned louder, threw her head back and pinched her nipples, pleasuring herself until finally she heard the door click closed, and then the pressure of an added weight on the bed, and then Draco — kneeling over her, his knees on either side of her thighs, his eyes so filled with want that she shivered.

She didn't want to be the only one naked, so she rose her arms up to undo his buttons, pushed aside his shirt so she could explore the hard plains of his chest, run her hands up and down the smooth skin which lay atop the muscles of his stomach.

He tensed under her ministrations, yet his own hands were just as busy, moving over her breasts, her shoulders, her arms, down her belly and over her pubic hair and — she gasped at the same time as he hissed. He'd dipped two fingers between her legs, into the wet folds of her arousal, and then they were circling, rubbing, teasing her until she was squirming with need.

He was leaning over her now, one arm propped beside her on the pillows and his forehead a few inches from her own. He looked at her, his eyes a stormy grey, his pupils dilated with his own longing — Hermione could barely stand it.

Then she felt his fingers move, downwards, to her entrance, and she let out a noise of surprise as he slowly pushed one finger inside of her. It was a strange sensation — full, but lacking. Good, but not enough. Then another one followed, and it was tight and sore and stretched and god — she groaned.

"Fuck 'Mione…" Draco's voice was hoarse, as if he were trying desperately to control it, and it took Hermione until after she opened her eyes to realise they'd been closed, and to see the almost pained look on Draco's face — the way his lips were parted and his eyes so dark they dug straight into whatever it was that made up her soul.

She kissed him then, and it was wild and passionate and sloppy and full of teeth and tongue, but it was so perfect Hermione never wanted to stop. They were both flushed and panting, Draco growling, his fingers moving in and out of her, scissoring outwards until she writhed and begged him for more.

She'd been gripping his shoulders — so tightly she knew her fingers would leave marks — but now she moved her hands with a shaking determination to unzip his fly, to slip her hand into his shorts and feel the hot, weeping hardness that slid against her palm. She relished in the sharp intake of breath Draco took against her ear, right before his teeth closed around her earlobe, and she gave a purposeful moan into his hair, a moan which she knew he loved, because his erection throbbed in her hand. She squeezed him, running her fingers up and down the steely hard length, the velvety soft skin. "_Hermione…_"

Then he was moving away, off of her, and Hermione was about to scream until she saw him discard his trousers and shorts in one go. She didn't wait for him to come back on top of her, she only got on her knees and flung her arms around his neck, using her weight to push him back down into the mattress.

Like this, his hair stood up around his head like a halo, nearly matching the whiteness of the duvet as Hermione straddled him, as she traced a finger down his chest until it reached the trail of blonde curls, and the gloriously hard and bobbing erection that was waiting just for her.

She sucked her lip, imaging what it would taste like, what it would be like to run her tongue down the side of it, how it would feel in her mouth, and Draco, as if sensing her thoughts, practically growled, grabbing her hips and sliding her against him. He was so hot and hard, rubbing against her in just the right place, and Hermione thought she'd burst if he kept grinding them together, biting his lip and looking at her if she were all the world.

Maybe Draco didn't think she was ready for actual sex, maybe his plan was to get them both off just like this (not that Hermione would mind) but her little action plan sat in a neat little tin foil square, right beneath the pillow. So she reached for it, drawing it out and ripping off the packaging, only half registering the way Draco's eyes widened, the way he gave the most kissable grin of surprise and approval.

She handed him the condom, and moved back to give him a little room as he slid it on. Later, she would wonder at his deftness, at the way he knew exactly what he was doing, but now, all she did was position herself with her hands on his chest, and slowly lowered herself onto him.

Burning. A hot, stretching sensation. Her eyes stung too, and she felt two tears fall down her cheeks. She kept her eyes open, though, locked onto his, and that helped, because if she hadn't seen his look of compassion and earnest adoration, she wouldn't have been able to say, "I love you, Draco."

* * *

"_I love you, Draco._"

Her words made his soul sing. He couldn't say anything — couldn't speak. He couldn't move, because if he did it'd be the end, he'd lose control and pound into her like the animalistic side of him was urging him to do. He wanted to cherish this, to savour every second and ingrain it into his memory. God, he'd never forget how it looked to have her straddling him, her rosy nipples pebbled and her breasts bouncing with her movements. To be buried inside of her, like he was right now, there was no other feeling like it in the world. Hot. Tight. _So_ fucking tight.

He didn't let himself wonder about the condom — didn't stop to let any thought enter his head other than his love for the girl on top of him.

So why couldn't he say it? Why couldn't he tell her?

Then he saw her tears, and every self loathing feeling surrounded his heart like a fist of iron. Slowly, carefully, he edged himself upwards until his back was against the headboard, and Hermione was unmoved in his lap. One kiss, two kiss, his lips on her cheekbones, and her tears were gone.

"Are you okay?" He asked softly.

She nodded, and then her smile was radiant. Their noses touched, he claimed her lips, and his arms circled around her. He'd never let go — even if he lost her, he wouldn't let go. He'd remember this, the way their skin became slick together, the way she slowly moved her hips, experimenting with the motions, eliciting little gasps of pleasure from her which were music to his ears.

He wouldn't move, he wouldn't change her pace. Everything was about her — for her. _Everything._ She rocked forwards, tentatively at first, her hands on his shoulders, then she did it again — harder, more certain, and they shared a long lasting groan of satisfaction.

He rubbed her back, her shoulder blades, traced the contours of her body until he reached her bum, cupping each cheek and pulling her closer. Fuck, she was _so_ perfect.

Then she was grinding, rubbing agains him harder — faster, and Draco kissed her, sucked her bottom lip and bit her flesh as she whined, pleaded to him for more. And for her — for her, Draco would do anything.

He flipped them over, swift and precise, remaining inside of her even as she was swung onto her back. Draco wasn't going to hurt her. He wasn't going to be rough. Not this time. And it scared him. Because even though he was experienced with sex, this tenderness, this loving passion was entirely foreign.

Hermione's legs wrapped around his hips, and at this angle he found himself even deeper inside of her. Every ridge, every bump of her warm, wet passage, hugged his searing and aching flesh like a vice.

With every thrust, they moaned, and with every thrust, each moan became louder. Deep, hard, yet gentle, Draco's arms secured her body, moulded her into him and swallowed every sound she had to offer, welcomed every angle of her hips, until her breathing became faster, laboured, and _fuck_, the sight of her orgasming, the feeling of her tightening around him made his own nearly overpowering.

* * *

It wasn't like the pleasure of her own fingers, it was much, much more. She'd never felt so full, so whole and complete. Being with Draco like this, it was as if he made up the parts of her she'd never known she'd lacked.

Hermione loved him. She loved the way he held her as if she'd break, loved the way he moved inside of her as if his aim was to have her broken. Broken, yet cherished. Cherished, yet sated, content, beautiful. She felt beautiful. Wanted.

Everything became too much. Out of nowhere, like a freight train of memories, the pleasure washed over her and her orgasm made her shudder. Her thighs squeezed Draco's hips, latched around him like she'd fall apart if he moved. She did fall apart though, she could hardly breathe for several seconds, until she felt him pulsing inside of her, and her hands found his face, guided him to look at her as they both became one with the other. Grey met brown, and together they made the sweetest, headiest combination that could ever exist.

They kissed slowly, as if they had all the time in the world, and when they pulled apart it was as two souls thoroughly possessed by the other.

She'd had sex with Draco Malfoy, and she'd loved every second of it.

* * *

Draco lay awake, Hermione's back sheltered firmly against his chest. He could hear the soft puffs of her breath brush against his arm — an arm that acted as her pillow, decorated with the silky strands of her hair which tickled his skin.

God, he loved her.

Then why did he have to feel so… so dirty? Why did he keep telling himself this was wrong, that he shouldn't be here, shouldn't have done what he did — shouldn't have had sex with Hermione. Maybe it was because somehow he knew he should have told her first. But maybe he'd caved, given in to his desires, because a part of him knew that when she did find out, she'd be hurt — she wouldn't want to sleep with him once she knew. Was that true? Would it be true?

He was so scared. _So_ fucking scared. Because he'd hurt her, he'd tainted her. He'd messed up, all because he'd gotten his priorities wrong — because he was a stupid horny teenager who couldn't resist Hermione Granger masturbating in front of him.

How would she feel? What would she do when she found out he'd fucked Pansy? A girl who she'd apparently had some kind of history with? All it had been was fucking — nothing else — no love, no emotions — not on his side, but Hermione still deserved to _know_. But he'd lost his chance, and he knew that if he did tell her, everything would come crashing down around him — every hope of happiness and love. It'd be gone.

He'd already hurt her, and he'd promised himself he'd never do it again. But he had. What did that make him? Who was he, to hurt the angel who lay sleeping in his arms, the girl who he'd made love to? The girl who he'd do anything in the world to protect, to be able to feel her body writhe beneath him once more.

It made him fucking selfish, that's what.

After that final kiss, after they'd spent the majority of the afternoon wrapped up in eachother on her bed, they'd gone downstairs and cooked. Draco had gotten to laugh, been able to watch Hermione's face transform into a million smiles with post coital bliss. And then he'd gotten to hold her on the couch, to relish in her warmth as they watched some pointless sitcom on the telly which Draco had hardly payed attention to.

But what now? Would he be able to tell her in the morning? Would everything they'd shared dissolve?

His eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly in the darkness to will his hateful, pathetic tears away. His teeth ground together, and biting the inside of his cheek, he waited for the blood to come.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Hey everyone, I've got a couple of questions. Do you think I should change the bio description of the story? (Seeing as technically Draco was only a paperboy for one chapter..?) Should I make it something more relevant to the school setting? Or is it okay as is? Secondly, do you reckon I should give each chapter a title? Or no? **

**I suppose it's no big deal but seeing as you guys are the readers I figured I'd ask your opinions :)  
Anyway, on with the plot! **

* * *

Hermione walked into her bedroom, fresh out of the shower, and caught the last second of Draco sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. As soon as she entered, however, he straightened, looking up at her and grinning.

Hermione smiled back, because she knew they were both tired (and she was definitely sore) and considerably late for school, once again. This time, though, she found she didn't really mind.

"I hope I didn't wake you," She said as she threw her pyjamas into the hamper and took up her hairbrush.

"Nah," Draco stifled a yawn, "you would have yelled me awake after you showered, anyway. School, remember?"

Hermione watched him in the reflection of her dresser's mirror, took in the dark crescents beneath his eyes, and the way he suddenly stood up and moved towards her. He stopped at her back, tentatively placing his hands on her waist. Something in the lines of his face was off — resigned, and his lips twitched as if with the struggle to speak.

Hermione put down the brush and turned to him, just as he spoke. "Hermione, I —"

Something inside of her panicked — what was happening? Did he regret it? Did he wish he hadn't had sex with her? No. That wasn't possible. She wouldn't _let_ it be possible.

"I love you," she gushed out. Quickly, out of place, but the crease between his brows softened and his eyes wavered.

"Hermione… I — you — you know I…"

She took his face between her hands. "I know, Draco. It's okay."

It _was_ okay, because she knew he loved her, even if he had trouble saying it. It hurt a little, but that was just the way he was, and Hermione could accept that, because she was certain one day it would all get better — easier.

* * *

Draco pressed his forehead against the cold bus window. He felt cold inside too — in fact, the only warm part of him was the hand that held Hermione's.

He turned his head to look at her, just in time to catch a flash of the name 'Ronald Weasley' across her phone screen. Oh, so the Weasel was texting her? Was that normal? Did they always message each other?

Draco clenched his teeth. He had no right to be jealous, even though the emotion threatened to boil the lining of his stomach.

Hermione didn't appear to be too happy at the Red-headed Twat's text though — she was chewing her lip — a habit Draco associated with her anxiety.

He squeezed her hand, she squeezed back. He wanted to ask her how she felt, if she hurt anywhere, if he'd been too rough? But he supposed none of that mattered — he'd already injured her, time and time again, and he was only waiting for the crumbling of the walls which surrounded their happiness.

He returned his face to the glass, wishing it'd shatter, break into a million tiny pieces and carry him away in its destruction.

* * *

As they came through the school gates, Hermione told him, "I — um — I got a message from my Mum, they're coming home tonight — a night earlier — once again… And well — I thought maybe — if you wanted to, that is — you could still come back with me and, well — and meet them. They'd like to meet you — introducing a boyfriend is pretty important…"

Why was she so nervous? Why was _he _nervous? Her parents? Two respectable adults who Draco had all the world to thank for raising Hermione — two people who had no idea about how much he'd hurt their daughter — how much he _would_ hurt her.

"I…" But this was for her — everything was for _her._ He wanted to meet them, he just didn't want them to _know_ him. "I — yeah. That sounds nice."

Hermione beamed at him, and while her smile made him want to kiss her, the ache in his chest held him back.

* * *

Hermione sat in between Draco and Zacharias Smith, their substitute science teacher no where in the room. They were doing a text book quiz, and while Hermione was perfectly content to try and tune out the whining monologue of Zacharias, she could tell Draco was getting more and more agitated by the second. His foot was jumping beneath the desk, his nerves kindled into little hot flames which Hermione could imagine lashing out at the talkative pimply boy.

She smiled at the thought, just as the speaker transitioned into an entirely new, abrupt change of topic — a topic which made Hermione blush.

"So, are you guys together, or…"

Draco jerked his arm against his notebook, his other hand coming up to scratch at his head. "Yes. Got a problem with that, Smith?"

Zacharias looked bashful, but then his face took on a smug, gloating appearance as he said, "Well, no. _I _don't. Other people might."

Draco put his pen down, and Hermione leant back in her chair to escape the small distance between the two boys. She wished Zacharias hadn't chosen to sit directly next to her — he smelt like sour milk and sweat.

"Yeah? Like who?" Draco's voice was quiet, a notch which Hermione knew meant trouble.

Zacharias giggled. "Well… Weren't you going out with that Parkinson girl?"

The beam which had made up Draco's rigid back snapped, and he banged his fist down on the table, his face suddenly flustered. "Will you just bloody FUCK OFF! NO, alright? I was never going out with Pansy. Now shut your fucking face before I do it for you."

And then he grabbed his pen again, but Hermione saw he didn't write anything, and his knuckles had gone white.

She put a hand on his knee beneath the desk, and immediately his leg stopped twitching.

* * *

Hermione went home alone that afternoon, Draco had told her he'd go back to his place and drop his stuff off and change before coming to meet her parents. She'd taken it as him inadvertently telling her he wanted look presentable, something which made her feel giddy with pride. What would her parents think of him? She'd never had a boyfriend before, let alone brought one home, and she was so nervous she felt restless.

She was surprised to find the door unlocked, and even more so when her mum's arms grabbed her around the midriff and squeezed the life out of her.

"Oh honey! How are you? How's your flu? Yes — we got a phone call from a 'Mr Snape,' informing us our daughter went home with a bad cold! We were so worried, we were going to come straight back home, but then your father told me not to worry and I figured you're a big girl and you'll be alright! Oh don't speak if it hurts! You shouldn't have gone to school you silly girl!"

Hermione had to rack her brains to realise her mum was talking about camp. Thank god Theo had ended up telling the teachers a lie. She extricated herself from her mother's arms and took a step back, giving her father a welcoming smile from over her mum's shoulder.

"Hi dad, mum. Um — later on, someone's coming over, just for dinner — if that's okay?"

He parents shared a look, surprisingly, of satisfaction.

"Of course, dear. Is it Ron?"

"Um, no — it's not. It's — he's — his name's Draco." No matter what, she would force herself _not_ to think of last night, of Draco, of everything that she knew to be Draco — his smell — his warmth — his hair — damn, now she was blushing.

"Draco? Is that Latin?" Asked her father.

Her mother completely ignored him, instead saying in an astonishing tone, "Draco!? A different boy? Is he a friend of Ron's?"

Oh, how far that was from the truth. "Um, no, not really. But he's… he's—"

And then suddenly her mum's face lit up, entirely knowing, "Oh, Hermione! Is he your boyfriend?"

Her blush deepened, and, figuring she'd better not beat around the bush, stuttered, "Uh, y-yes. He is."

Her mother clapped her hands together once, and looked at her husband with excitement, and was displeased to see the man looked far from approving, in fact worry shone from beneath his spectacles.

"Oh, don't look so morbid, dear. Our daughter's growing up! Hermione, what does Draco eat — what would he like for dinner?"

Hermione, utterly perplexed that her parents were taking this so well (apart from her dad's hesitant look of disapproval) and trying to come up with a reply to her mum's question, said, "Um… I'm sure he would appreciate anything. Although — home made pizza would be great?"

And with that, her mum bustled out of the kitchen, expressing aloud the need to quickly pop down to the store and pick up ingredients, leaving Hermione alone with her Dad.

"So, dad, how was the convention?"

She took a seat at the table, and after several seconds of staring at the opposing wall, he sat down across from her.

"Well, it was okay — it was good, it was — are you sure you're making the right decision Hermione? You're only seventeen."

Oh great, she could really do without this 'fatherly talk of concern' right now. She suppressed a groan.

"Dad."

He sighed, and rubbed his forehead, massaging the creases there as if trying to relieve himself of a stress headache.

"Hermione, I just… Boys are — boys are _so_…"

"Dad, come on, _please_. You know _you_ were a boy once."

He chuckled, and looked at her somewhat sadly. "Yes. Which makes me exactly aware of what they're like. I just — I just don't want to see you get hurt, Hermione."

It was unfair of her to be annoyed, so she only stretched her arm across the table and patted his hand. "I'm fine, dad. After all, I _am_ seventeen."

They shared a laugh, and then her Dad asked, "Do you love him?"

Hermione's smile faltered, because yes, she did love Draco. She loved him a lot. She'd given him her virginity, and she'd give him so much more, if he'd only ask. "Yes," she whispered, "Yes, I really do."

And her father grinned at her, kind, heartfelt, with all the laugh lines stretching out and waving at her.

Shortly after, the smell of cooking pizza filled the kitchen, and Hermione put on a dress — the same one she wore when she'd first invited Draco into her house — and then she waited.

She waited in the living room, right in sight of the window, of the little garden out the front, with a clear view of the fence and the hedges. She waited for that familiar head of snow-like hair, those spine tingling grey eyes.

She waited with a smile.

* * *

Draco's knuckles were bleeding. He'd punched the wall, crumbled the plaster and hit the beam support. His room was trashed — ripped carpet, broken and kicked in wardrobe, flipped desk. Every worthless and pointless ornament he owned had been violently swept to the floor — and he didn't regret any of it.

Now, he only sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees and his head bowed low, trying to catch his breath.

He'd said goodbye to Hermione at the gates, held her close and kissed her softly on the lips — walked away from her, knowing, dreading, what he would do next.

He'd gotten home — an empty house, albeit a strangely tidy one — and he'd paced. He'd gone from room to room, inspecting the differences, conjuring up each minuscule reason why he'd never be good for Hermione, why everything was entirely his fault. They were worlds apart, and Draco now realised it was a void which could never be closed. Maybe it could have been, maybe it might have sealed up if he hadn't been such a fucking coward — if he'd told her the truth when it was most important.

But he was weak.

He'd stopped pacing, had pulled his hair, growled to himself until it turned into a plea waiting to be heard — waiting for something, anything — waiting for Hermione to come and save the pathetic, lying excuse which was Draco Malfoy.

He'd known from the moment she'd asked him that he wouldn't be able to face her parents, wouldn't be able to inadvertently lie to their faces — to their daughter's heart. He'd tried to tell her, he really had, but he just couldn't. Because either way, he knew it would be over — over in a matter of days.

His phone beeped for the fifth time, four hours since he'd swapped numbers with Hermione at the gates and one hour since he was meant to be at her house — seated with her family in a warm home, at a kitchen table which he'd once dreamed to own a place at.

He didn't look at it, he threw it across the room. He didn't wipe his blood, he let it dry into dark beads of black, and then he stood out on the back porch, smoking cigarettes until he could no longer see the exhales of his breath.

* * *

Hermione ate cold pizza with her parents after walking in and out of the house for two hours, opening and closing the gate, waiting for the face she would do anything to see, until she was sure that something had happened — something bad, because Draco wasn't coming, and he hadn't responded to her messages. Something was wrong, because he wouldn't do that — not to her — because he loved her — he'd meant it with every look, every touch.

As her parents made idle small talk, trying to distract the solemn state of their daughter, Hermione only chewed her pizza — Draco's favourite food — without tasting it. Her mind picked at every detail of the day, every moment she'd caught the end of a resigned flash, a troubled look in the angles of Draco's face — a look which he'd reigned in, disguised, before she'd had time to notice. But the images were still there, worrying her, scaring her — the way he'd gotten in a rage over Zacharias's words, the way he seemed to actually want to study, and most of all, the way his words had been few, sparse. Then there were the times he'd looked at her with meaning, with a longing that shouldn't be there because he already had her, they were together, _one_. She was his, and he, hers.

Maybe all that meant nothing, maybe her imagination was teasing her, playing tricks, and Draco was just sick, or maybe he'd gotten into something miserable with his father and he couldn't get to his phone.

Yet for some reason, surrounding her heart like a vine of insistent ivy was a feeling of dread, a feeling that something had withered and died, something which had only just begun to bloom — the foundation of their happiness.

* * *

**Hope you all enjoyed! I feel so organised and ahead on this story — still got several chapters already written! So once again, the more you guys review, the quicker I update! heh heh *bribes* **


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Wow I've gotten past 100 reviews (that's probably nothing but I'm so happy!) Thanks so much everybody!**

* * *

Hermione arrived at school early the next morning. She was waiting just inside the gates — waiting for Harry and Ron, but most of all, for Draco. She smiled at some of the familiar faces of her grade, who'd been away on camp — but for some reason they weren't smiling back. Maybe she had something on her face? She wiped her sleeve over her lips self consciously. She hadn't even eaten that morning, she'd been too anxious, because Draco still hadn't replied. Not to mention, she was also feeling guilty over the fact she'd forgotten to text Ron, who would no doubt think he was being ignored.

She sighed as she swapped her weight to her other foot, rubbing her hands together to fight away the crisp morning air. She looked up just as Hannah Abbot walked in, a girl who Hermione normally exchanged greetings with in the halls. She opened her mouth to say good morning, and ask how camp was, but as soon as Hannah saw her she averted her eyes, aiming them steadfastly at the ground, and had marched right past Hermione.

Something in her gut thickened, why was everyone treating her oddly? She didn't have much time to think about it though, because through the gates she saw a flash of bright orange, and a shorter, dark haired head accompanying it — Harry, tugging on Ron's arm, almost as if he were trying to drag him backwards. His lips were moving, and he was saying something quickly, something Hermione was too far away to hear, but as her eyes moved to Ron's face the unpleasant sensation in her stomach worsened. He was red, livid, and as soon as they passed into the school grounds both his and Harry's eyes met her own. They seemed to stop for half a second, Harry looking away and Ron clenching his jaw, his expression only darkening — the puffing of his nostrils making him look like an angry bull.

But then they were coming towards her, Ron's stride determined, twice as long as Harry's who was jogging to keep up, continuously pulling on his friend's sleeve.

Hermione felt her heart beat quicken as she caught several of Harry's words, "—Ron. Ron don't. Calm down — think about this!" Whatever he needed to think about, he was abstaining, because then they halted a metre away from Hermione and she could only open and close her mouth like a gaping fish.

"Hi — How was camp? W—what's up — Ro—"

"DON'T!" Ron pointed his finger, rushing forwards and closing the gap between them. And then he just exploded, a kettle too enraged to boil — "HOW DARE YOU! HOW CAN YOU JUST STAND THERE AND —"

Harry grabbed Ron's shoulders, "Ron! DON'T—" only to be thrown off by his friend.

"—PRETEND YOU'RE OUR FRIEND! YOU'RE A DIRTY SLUT 'MIONE!" His voice was hoarse and booming, and Hermione could only stand there and feel tears sting her eyes. She had no idea what was going, actually, she might know, but to be yelled at by her friend in front of dozens of students was painful and embarrassing.

She sucked in a breath, "Ron — what are you talking —"

"DON'T PRETEND LIKE YOU DON'T KNOW! DITCHING US ON CAMP SO YOU COULD GO AND FUCK MALFOY!"

Hermione gasped, freely crying now, "Ron! What — you don't understa—" She couldn't say anymore, because she might lose it, might scream something stupid. She turned to Harry for help, but he was only glaring at the ground. "_Ron…_"

The red head heaved, panting, his face crimson over the inability to yell everything at once, his angry words still lingering in the air between them. "First Theodore fucking Nott, and then Malfoy!? _Malfoy!_? 'Mione — how could you — you traitor —"

"Ron! You've got this completely wrong — I — I never —"

"DON'T LIE! We heard all about it! How you dated Nott, and then left all of us to go and fuck that cheating scum Malfoy!"

The pounding in her chest was almost unbearable, "I — _what?_"

Ron laughed, loud and spiteful, like a painful barb to her feelings. "WHAT? Didn't he tell you!? HAH! Didn't he tell you that —"

"Ron," Harry moved forward, "Don't!"

"SHUT UP! Don't act like you aren't fucking pissed off!" Harry didn't reply, and then Ron turned back to Hermione, his eyes glowing, his smile wide, yet his eyes pained, enraged. "Didn't Malfoy tell you he's fucking Pansy? Or did you already know? Had no problem with stealing someone's boyfriend—"

There was a flash, a flash of black and white, of uniform and hair — Draco, and he'd just punched Ron square in the face.

* * *

Weasley staggered back, and Draco had only a moment to straighten up, watching as the pathetic fuck fell back into Potter, before the other boy launched himself at Draco, sending his fist into the side of his neck.

Draco choked on an aggravated growl, heard Hermione gasp and plead for them to stop, before he'd thrown more hits at the Weasel. One, two, three. Weasley was shouting something, the side of his lip was cut and bleeding, but Draco couldn't hear what — his head was throbbing, his blood pounding — he felt something hard and heavy collide with his ear, with the whole side of his body, and he swore loudly.

Down, down, down.

Hermione was screaming at them.

Thud, crash on the pavement — a heavy weight stuck on his chest. Something ached at the back of his skull. Vaguely, he heard himself yell, "— GET THE FUCK OFF ME WEASLEY—" and then he used all his strength, every ounce of will to push the fucking prick off of him, to reverse their positions until he had his knee in the other boy's chest, his hands on the collar of his shirt, pulling upwards. "DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TALK TO HER LIKE THAT AGAIN!" He shouted it, his mouth gurgling with something metallic — blood — but oh joy, Weasley looked scared, pale, his face a spattering of red bruises.

"DRACO! Stop — stop it! _Please_ —" No, he wouldn't. This was one thing he wouldn't do for her — for Hermione. He wouldn't tolerate people talking down to her — hurting her.

Draco shook Weasley until he answered — it was a wheeze of an answer, but before he could enjoy the infliction of one last punch he was hurled to his feet by the back of his jumper, forced to stand and meet the feral, contorted face of Snape.

"_What. Is. This?_"

Draco wasn't in the mood for his infuriatingly calm words, so he spat out, "What the fuck does it look like!?"

Snape's black eyes narrowed at him, and for several seconds he didn't say anything, then, "Detention. Mr Malfoy. In fact, for all three of you."

What? Draco supposed Snape meant him, Weasley, and Potter — but then why was Potter standing to the side, looking apprehensively guilty? As far as he knew, Pothead hadn't even thrown one punch.

Draco's eyes landed on Hermione, her chest heaving, her fists balled uselessly at her sides, and tear tracks mapping out the shape of her face. She wasn't looking at him, and Draco was thankful, because he didn't think he could bare it if she was.

He turned on his feet, intending to leave — to go anywhere that wasn't this fucking hole, but Snape's voice stopped him. "Draco, you will join Mr Weasley and I, after he has the courtesy to pick himself up off the ground, in the principle's office."

Draco's shoulders stiffened, every possible bad instance involving the principle would ultimately result with his father being contacted. He was surely out now, out of this school, expelled. Good. He didn't need school — didn't want to be here. He'd better get it over with, then.

So he willed his pulse to become steady, spat the blood from his mouth onto the pavement, and walked in the direction he'd rather be doing anything than going in.

* * *

Hermione didn't look up until they'd left, promising herself she wouldn't give in — wouldn't give in and watch the slouch in Draco's back, or the way he buried his bleeding knuckles in his pockets. She let out a sob, angrily scrubbed at her eyes with her sleeves, and then nearly got the fright of her life when she turned and saw Harry still standing there.

He was watching her, his face overcome with pity and regret, and it made Hermione want to yell at him. But she couldn't, because if she did everything would come out in a never-ending torrent, every ounce of sadness and hurt that was threatening to swallow her whole — threatening to make her replay Ron's words in her head.

Harry was about to say something, but Hermione didn't let him. She ran away, her curls flying behind her, mingling with the drops of her tears, and she didn't stop until she'd locked herself in the girls bathroom.

She slumped down on the closed toilet, letting the first undignified sob bubble out of her throat, before furiously shaking her head and gritting her teeth. She would _not _break down like a pathetic, heartbroken teenager — but that was what she was, wasn't she? Pathetic. How could she have been so stupid? So stupid to think anyone — let alone Draco, dark, brooding and broken Draco — could take a fancy to her? Things like that just didn't happen, not outside of fantasy, not outside of her stories.

And then the humiliation washed over in waves, drowning her with her own tears. The condoms. The way she'd been so foolishly naive in her preparations, in her nervousness. God, Draco had probably had sex hundreds of times, hadn't he? The thought caused a knot in her stomach — a hard, burning knot that worked its way up from her stomach and into her chest cavity. But it was true — it had to be true — because Ron wouldn't lie to her like that, and Harry wouldn't look so utterly torn and pitiful. Pity — something which she'd faced with bravery last night, when her parents had looked at her with sad smiles, when her dad had hugged her goodnight and wore a look that said, "I thought he loved you, Hermione?"

_Yes, Dad, I thought so too._

Everything made sense now, Draco's reluctance to talk about himself, the expertise he'd handled her with when they'd made love — was that what it really was, love? Or was that just the the way he held all girls when he had sex with them — gently, carefully, protectively? The image of Pansy, dark haired and pretty, in the arms of Draco flashed behind her eyelids, and Hermione wanted to wretch. It made her feel sick, disgusted, betrayed. But why was she less angry at Draco, than she was at herself? Maybe it was because _she_ was meant to be the smart one, clever and aware, yet she'd let a boy claim her heart, take advantage of her, and now she'd been ruined in front of half the school — curious students who would from now on look at her as a slut.

She tore at her hair, her embarrassment and hurt boiling into a strange, nearly unwelcome rage — like jealousy. Why wasn't she good enough? What made Pansy so much better, so much more 'fuckable?' If Draco had liked her, Hermione, really liked — like he'd told her — from the first moment he saw her, why hadn't he come to _her_, why had he continued to seek attentions from Pansy? Hermione let out a very unfeminine growl, a growl which was rapidly replaced by another sob.

All these emotions, anger, jealousy, humiliation, raw hurt — they all continuously swapped places in her head, bombarding her with new tears and new recollections, until finally she'd had enough — had enough of being inside her own head, and kicked the toilet door with a strength she hadn't known she had. It creaked, shuddered, and Hermione managed to swallow a gulp of air, one deep breath which seemed to ground her, tune her into what she should be doing right now. She needed to make sense of things. She needed _the_ truth. The only truth. But where did she go, to her friends, or to Draco?

* * *

Draco slouched in one of the four chairs in front of the principle's desk, behind which sat the headmaster, his white beard twitching dismally as he surveyed the four people before him, listening to their words, or rather, their arguments, which were making Snape nearly have a haemorrhage in the corner of the office, where he stood like an ugly gargoyle.

"THAT BOY!" Weasley's red headed mother pointed a finger past her son, and Lucius Malfoy, at Draco, "ATTACKED MY SON! HE DESERVES TO BE EXPELLED!"

"Mrs Weasley," Dumbledore spoke calmly, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses, as if this were the most fun he'd had in weeks, "please calm down. We shall talk the matter over until we decide what can be done. Until then —"

"I say, Sir — we expel them both," Snape inserted his nose in from the corner, his arms crossed and his face deadly bored as he glared at the two boys.

Dumbledore was about to give a nod of silence to his employee, but Lucius beat him to it, saying in a drawl, "Snape, my friend. The easy way out is never the best route. Surely, you of all people would know that?"

Draco straightened marginally in his chair, not only surprised at the evident innuendo in his father's voice, but the way he'd practically just stood up for his son, and interrupted the headmaster. What the actual fuck? Draco still wouldn't meet his eyes though, he didn't even know _why_ the bastard was here. Normally, when Draco got into trouble at school, his father would be notified and would simply beat the punishment into his son's body after he came home. Coming into the school, and actually sitting in a pointless bloody meeting with two carrot-topped gnomes, that was what puzzled Draco. Not to mention, the even stranger fact of how Lucius wasn't giving off tellable waves of disappointment and fury, he was only sitting next to his son with his hands on his knees and his lips curled — oh, and he was wearing that fucking suit.

Snape seemed to flush at what Lucius said to him, but then Dumbledore cleared his throat and even Weasley was forced to steady her horse-like breathing.

"I think, if Mrs Weasley and Mr Malfoy agree with me, young Ron and Draco will do better to serve time for their mistakes and learn their wrongs within the hours of several detentions. After all, I do think it rather severe to expel either boy for a mere schoolyard brawl," he gave a whimsical chuckle, "In fact, if I do say so myself, and if my aged mind recalls correctly, I was a participant in many a feud when I was their age. But then again, weren't we all?" He steepled his bony, wrinkly fingers beneath his chin and smiled at everyone in the room. Draco felt like sneering at him, because to tell the truth, he'd rather be expelled. There was nothing here for him anymore.

Weasley's mother, however, didn't seem to be pleased with the old man's speech, and after letting out a noise of disagreement, gestured to the battered state of her son, who sat even more crumpled in his seat than Draco — probably dripping blood on the carpet, and said, "Mr Dumbledore, I must insist on something more extreme be done! This isn't the first time Ron has had problems with that—"

"_Draco_," Lucius's voice was a controlled seethe, "My son's name is _Draco._"

Draco's eyes widened, and from the corner of his eye he couldn't help but direct his frown up to the tense figure of his father.

Before the Weasley hen could do anything other than give an embarrassed splutter, Dumbledore coughed and, after offering everyone a sherbet lemon, which everyone declined by way of silence, reiterated the punishment of the detentions. "—now Severus, who else did you say was involved with the debacle? Miss Granger, and Mr Potter was it?"

Draco's whole body flooded with something strange and cold, like dread, at the mention of Hermione's name, but in his facade to remain indifferent, he turned his eyes on Snape, and noticed the man had turned particularly awkward, and seemed to debate with himself on what to say before mumbling, "Actually, Headmaster, in this case Mr Potter is, indeed, blameless. It was he who came and notified me of the conflict."

Dumbledore looked surprised for a brief moment, and then detention times were settled, Weasley groaned, and Draco hastened to his feet, uncaring to stay a second longer.

He shouldered his way out of the office, stormed down the corridor and exited the building, fully intending to go home, pack his bag, and go who knows where, when he felt a hand grip his shoulder and his father say, "Draco! Wait —"

Draco shrugged him off, his anger re-bristling. "_What!?" _he spat, "Come to hit me? Come to beat some sense into your son!?"

What was that? That flash of regret across the man's face, like self-loathing. "Lower your voice, Draco."

Draco scoffed. "Piss off. Don't you have a job to go to?"

"Just as _you_ have classes to attend."

What? Since when did his father care about his schooling? It was almost as weird as when Hermione had said he'd asked about his grades. Draco gulped, shoving the thought of Hermione out of his head, and glaring into the stern eyes of his father. He didn't have to crane his neck anymore, they were practically the same height.

"Maybe — what's it to you? As if you fucking care —"

"Your mother would have wanted you to do well."

Draco froze. At first he felt bitter, irritated, and he thought that he would be able to wait all day until blind rage enabled him to shout and spit, but the anger didn't come. Instead, something clogged up his throat, just like the blood had done earlier, his eyes burned, and he'd never clenched his jaw so hard. He didn't say anything — couldn't say anything.

Lucius only stared, eyes narrowed yet far off, looking at Draco, yet through him. "I— I'll see you this afternoon, Draco. I have something I wish to discuss with you." And then he was turning, leaving, the coat he wore over his bloody suit billowing in the breeze, and for a second Draco saw a different image — one with a woman with long blonde hair, a woman kissing him on the cheek and telling him she'd be back soon. Then the memory, along with his father, was gone, and Draco wanted to yell and curse, but he couldn't.

His hands shook as he took out his cigarette packet.


	21. Chapter 21

Hermione didn't go to classes that morning — actually, education was the last thing on her mind. She'd gone to the Principle's office, knocked and found it empty aside from a somehow knowing, sympathetic look from the headmaster.

"Mr Malfoy left more than half an hour ago," he'd told her.

By the time Hermione found herself in the schoolyard, after travelling through corridor after corridor, warring with the bleakness of her mind and the unfeeling grasp around her heart, the sky was dull and overcast.

Maybe it might rain, or storm — how fitting. Hermione almost welcomed the bellowing crack of echoing thunder, jumping and shivering a little as a lone drop of rain fell and hit her on the cheek.

She stood there, waiting for the torrent of water to shroud out her miserable expression, because maybe if it did start to pour down, she'd be able to turn around and go back inside — apologise to her teacher for her lateness, and sit down and pretend nothing was amiss, pretend she didn't just have her heart wrenched out and then clumsily stuffed back inside her chest.

It didn't rain though, not one drop more than the one sliding down her face, yet the air still carried faint traces of glorious freshness, like the smell of wet cement. So she took a step, and then another, and began her search — her search for Draco, for the boy who still held her heart.

He wasn't behind any buildings, or lurking in any of the places she might imagine him to be in. There wasn't a chance he'd be in class, he'd go to the quietest place, a place considerably lacking in company. The school was quite a big place, and for a moment Hermione was overwhelmed with hopelessness, before suddenly the ringing memory of a rumour swam through her head — the rumour that any student seen loitering in the bell tower would be immediately expelled.

The bell tower. A lead-like feeling filled her insides. Incredibly high up, secluded, of course that'd be the place where Draco was most likely to be — but the idea of going up there, all those steps and ladders, made her want to run away and hide.

She couldn't, though — she wouldn't. Because if there was anything that was more important than pathetic petty fears like heights, it was _this._ This exciting, passionate desire between her and Draco which was so close to being broken it frightened her. Frightened her more than any tower ever could.

* * *

Draco tipped his head back, the sound of the pelting rain on the tower's turreted tin roof drowning out every unwanted thought from his mind. If only he could sit there forever, one leg outstretched and the other drawn up — the bitter tang of tobacco heating the forlorn chill which lingered in his chest. Maybe he'd die up there, peacefully, with only the rain to comfort him, and when the storm passed someone would come up, to ring the bell most likely, and find a dead body. And no one would even care. His father wouldn't. Hermione wouldn't — not after what had just happened, what she'd just found out.

Draco wanted to scream, but instead he only slammed the back of his already throbbing head against the brick wall, exhaling smoke in one angry, vengeful breath. Anger was an emotion which he had trouble dealing with right now — there was too much of it, filling him up from the inside and nearly suffocating him. Or maybe that was just the smoke. He didn't care. Not right now. He couldn't even find an outlet for his rage, couldn't decide whether it needed to be directed at himself, Pansy, or Weasley.

Suddenly, through the heavy beating of the rain, he could distinguish footsteps coming closer, getting louder with each step. They were too light to be the caretaker's — Filch, who's dream it was to catch Draco in the bell tower and have him expelled — and softness was a tread which most commonly belonged to Theo. He didn't want to see his friend right now. He wanted to be alone. So when the footfalls became the loudest, echoing onto the landing and indicating their owner was just about to show themselves, Draco grunted, "Fuck off, Theo."

There was a pause, the steps halted, and Draco, ready to yell something even more sinister, crushed the end of his cigarette on the wooden panels beside him — pretending it was Theo's head.

But it wasn't Theo. It was Hermione. Flushed, red eyes, drenched hair. She was out of breath, distressed, her lips parted and her lashes thick with the weight of water droplets. Beautiful Hermione, and she'd been looking for him, climbing a tall tower and facing her fear of heights, crying — because of him.

Before either of them could say anything, Draco had rushed to his feet. He swayed, dizzy, his head injury burning, but forgotten, because then Hermione looked at him, her eyes overflowing with confusion, with betrayal and hurt, and Draco wanted more than anything to pull her into his arms — to never let go. The desire was unbearable, so he clenched his knuckles, still cracked with dried blood, and turned away, leaning his arms on the railings, trying more than anything to get lost in the thousands of unyielding streaks of rain.

"You should leave." His voice was thick, hoarse. He had to grip the rail to resist the urge to turn to her.

He heard her feet shuffle against the wood, heard her take a shaky breath, and then in a whisper, small enough that it was nearly muffled by the rain, she asked, "Is it true?"

Draco's fists clenched. Unclenched. Clenched. No, it's not. He could say that — wanted to say that, because if he did he might salvage the falling remains of what made up their future. It would be a mere half future, however, built on the uneven slopes of lies and deceit. He couldn't do that to Hermione. Yes, it is true — he could speak the truth, try and mould it into a shape that made him out to be the misunderstood, the misguided, the man willing to be redeemed.

But he was Draco Malfoy, and all he said was a hybrid of the inbetween. "True enough."

A beat. "How true?"

The rain cast grey shadows across the school grounds, blurring the lines of what seemed real. Draco wished he could blend into it, become one with the rain, but all he could do was take a gulp of its freshness, shrug and pretend like he was okay. "Does it matter?"

And then he heard it, a whimper, and he spun around just in time to catch the tremble of her lip, the tear hastily smudged away, before she was glaring at him defiantly. "Yes. Yes — it does matter! Draco — everything matters — between you and me everything matters. It _needs_ to matter. Why —why don't you see that?"

Push. Shove. It was what Draco was used to doing. It was why he'd been able to keep relationships purely physical — it was why meeting Hermione Granger had been the stripping of his soul, and the idea of being completely vulnerable, completely barren, scared him. Almost as much as losing her scared him. But he'd already done that, hadn't he? So what did anything matter — what was the loss of the person most dear to him?

"Go." Saying it to the ground was easier, but haunting, because even though he didn't witness the flash of hurt in her eyes, he still knew it was there.

"Draco —"

"Don't —" he held out his hand, withdrew it when he realised it was trembling, "—don't come near me."

"Draco — you don't want this... _please_ don't push me away—"

"SHUT UP! Don't you _get_ it? Don't you fucking see that I'm a worthless piece of shit — that I hurt you — again and again —that I _lied_ to you — that even when I loved you I still fucked Pans—"

Heavy, soft, soaked and sweet — she slammed into him, her lips on his, prying, seeking, _begging._ And god, he must be a masochist, because even though it hurt, tore him apart to think that _this_ —this must be the last time, the last goodbye — it felt like the sun had just chased the storm away; like the heat in his body had been rekindled.

It was everything that their last kiss hadn't been — rushed, angry, full of teeth and tongues in the transience of dominance — with fingers clawing into flesh, pulling hair from scalps, tearing into eachother until the definition between two people became blurred.

Draco knew he should stop, knew he should push her away and shout at her, end this once and for all, but suddenly her hands were sliding down — down his back, down his ass and into his pockets —digging out his wallet?

She broke away from him — her face sad yet devious as she flipped open the wallet, and Draco would have questioned her, would have sought answers, until she pulled out what she was looking for — a flattened square of foil, a condom that had been in there for so long its existence had become forgotten.

They were both breathing hard, their exhales mingling into the heavy onslaught of the rain, and when their eyes met Draco's were confused, and hers were tormented — their deep toffee colour simmering in sorrow.

"Did you — did you keep them in here for Pansy?" She asked softly, her eyelids flittering closed, as if telling herself she had to hear his answer, even if it would break her in two.

His eyes hardened. What was he meant to tell her — that Pansy had used birth control tablets?

"No."

Her eyes wavered as they traced his face, but her only answer was a grim nod, and then Draco had to take a step back, because Hermione was lowering her stockings, sliding her panties off beneath her skirt, shuffling them down until they sat stretched and caught around her knees.

Any words Draco could have said died in his throat — lodged in his windpipe, and his heart throbbed painfully, as if he were about to be carried to the last brink of his sanity. "W…what—"

"Y-you said you loved me. So — so fuck me, Draco."

Draco froze, everything seemed to slow down — to stop as suddenly as if he'd fallen asleep. He stood as if struck, his face bruised and swollen, his mouth dry, his blood pounding, and there was Hermione, her cheeks red and her eyes bloodshot, her chest heaving with the indignation and the embarrassment that flogged her with her word choice.

And for the life of him, Draco didn't know what to do — didn't _want_ to know what to do. Because she was right — he _had_ said it — it'd slipped out in his need for her to see his ugly side. So, why, then, was she still here?

Hermione only got bolder, dropped her hands to the hem of her skirt and hitched it up — exposing her creamy skin, her mouth watering thighs, and the delicate patch of dark curls which Draco had never gotten to kiss.

"F-fuck me like you'd fuck Pansy."

* * *

Hermione shivered under the attack of the cold air and Draco's heated, calculating look. It was almost reproachful, the way his eyes were slits as he looked at her, but there was something more, something incredibly hungry and depraved in the way he stared — and that was what gave Hermione the courage to keep going, to say the vulgar words which tasted like poison in her mouth.

"F-fuck me like you'd fuck Pansy."

She didn't know what she was doing, all she knew was that when Draco had said he loved her, when it had sprang from his lips like an accident, like it could never be anything but the truth, something inside of her cracked — cracked with the inexplicable need to test him, to separate his words from his actions. Because if it were true, she might forgive him, if it were true, then everything that had been said and done, everything that had caused pain — she could look past it. If he loved her, he wouldn't do what she'd asked — wouldn't treat her like Pansy.

So, why, then, did a tiny, feral, repressed part of her, _want_ him to do it? Why didn't she object when suddenly he was there, right in front of her, something demonic and starving turning his grey eyes to a near black? When he ripped the condom from her hand, and tossed it over the side rails, out into the rain, why didn't she question him? Why wasn't she scared by the way he looked at her, as if he wouldn't leave an inch of her uncovered, devoured, tasted, _dirtied_? Why wasn't she disgusted by the way he claimed her mouth, by the way he tasted like smoke and blood and something bitter, something addictive?

Why didn't she protest when he turned her around and shoved her up against the bricks, when he pinned her hands above her head and wedged a knee between her thighs?

She should be fighting him, telling him it was over, because he was about to fuck her just like he'd fucked Pansy — without love, without meaning — and she didn't even care. Maybe it was because some jealous, insane part of her wanted to be everything he'd already had — everything he'd already had but better — and she was about to prove herself — to show him that she could accept every side of him, every dark crevice and tainted thought that made up his soul.

She didn't listen to the voice in her head that told her Draco wouldn't do this if he really did love her, she only moaned as she heard the unbuckling of his belt, the unzipping of his trousers, and then he was there — hot and hard and right at her entrance. She didn't listen to the thoughts that made her question why he'd thrown the condom away, that she was about to have unprotected sex, or how this was only her second time and she was still raw and aching from the last — but then all of that didn't matter, because with one sharp, precise push, he was inside of her.

It hurt, it burnt, but it felt _so_ right — so full and hot and — she whimpered, heard Draco growl, and then his hands were on her hips, gripping so tightly it was as if he knew they'd bruise — _wanted_ them to bruise. It wasn't enough, she couldn't feel his chest against her back, couldn't feel his breath in her ear or stirring her hair — they were joined, yet so far apart, and all she could do was grope at the brick wall in front of her face, groan as her cheek scratched against the uneven surface and pant as Draco unrelentingly thrust into her — again and again — but then it all dissolved, fell to pieces, because then he pulled out, slackened his hold on her flesh, and Hermione felt warm liquid soak her bum and the back of her thighs.

And then he moved away, and all the cold air which hadn't gotten hold of her, hadn't been known to her as Draco had sheltered her against the wall, came crashing around her — and she gasped. She ached between her thighs, and something in her chest ached too — as if everything was entirely wrong — and then the gasp turned into a sob, because that hadn't been Draco, that hadn't been _her _Draco, the one she'd made love with two days ago.

Her knees buckled, wobbling under her weight, and it took a lot of effort to simply turn around, to watch as he did up his trousers — to catch the glimmer in the corner of his eyes, the downturn to his lips, and the look of devastation, of self loathing and hate, that he wore when he looked at her.

Then he spoke, and his voice was deadly quiet, like acid, destroying every feeling of reparation which Hermione still hoped for, every chance he ever had of making it up to her — it slipped away into the rain.

"_That's_ how I fuck Pansy."

* * *

**A/N: Okay okay don't murder me! Everything will resolve itself - pretty soon in fact *O* - they're not all going to stay prats and cowards forever! Sorry if anyone seems too OOC, I try my best but might get a little carried away sometimes DX. I have some big plans ahead for Draco, and Hermione isn't going to lose her head and let herself be manipulated - so don't fear and stay tuned! :)**


	22. Chapter 22

Draco had left his heart behind in the bell tower, on her knees and crying, and he'd walked away, tossed everything into nothingness. He didn't feel anything this way, in fact, he didn't even notice the pain of his bodily injuries, the injuries he'd deserved, the cuts and bruises he'd suffered from Weasley. Maybe he should go and find him, to finish what they'd started, maybe then he'd —

"You're a _fucking_ idiot."

Draco froze, let the rain begin to smother his hair, his shoulders, and then he turned, and there, leaning against the outer wall of the tower entrance, stood Theodore Nott, his hands in his pockets, and his hair immaculately dry — the bastard had been waiting there for a while, then, just out of reach from the water.

Draco didn't want to know how Theo found him — because Theo always found him, and right now he couldn't care about anything, couldn't care enough to speak, because he'd left everything he cared about ten stories above him. In fact, if it wasn't raining so heavily, the sound of Hermione's sobs would probably carry down to where they stood.

Draco glared at the boy. "Fuck off."

"You're pathetic," Theo wasted no time. Draco growled, advancing on his friend, his teeth already bared.

"Tell me something I don't fucking know already—"

"You're a coward —"

Draco hit him, hard, right in the jaw. Theo didn't look fazed, only smug. Draco wanted to yell at him, to kick him and tell him it was all his fault. _His _fault for letting Hermione find him, for telling her to skip camp, to go to Draco and give him the happiest two days of his life.

"You're a coward," Theo repeated, his fingers coming to wipe the blood away from his lip, "And you broke her heart."

Yes. I broke my own heart, too. If I even had a heart to begin with — maybe if he told his friend that he'd leave him alone. But instead Draco found his anger diminishing, his fingers curled, and he may or may not have felt the slightest bit of regret for clipping his friend in the face.

"I know I did," he said softly, "I made sure of it." They looked at each other, Theo's eyes penetrating, judging, as if he were trying to think of the most hurtful, punishing reprimand in the dictionary, but before he could speak, Draco continued. "Say what you want — but first tell me, was it Pansy — did Pansy tell them? Did she start this?"

Theo's answering gaze told Draco enough, and suddenly his rage threatened to resurface, but then Theo said, "Draco, _you_ started this. _You_ can choose how you finish it… so don't be such a bloody wanker... She loves you - you _know_ she loves you."

Draco's eyes widened, something in his chest stirred, something that responded with jealousy to the way Theo sounded envious, as if longing for the love of the girl he mentioned.

And then every ounce of goodness, every redeemable quality he could ever offer Hermione, came to him in the form of Theo. Draco could give her happiness, a deserving companion — it just wouldn't be him, wouldn't be the boy who thought he might explode with his contained feelings — it would be Theo, deserving, honourable Theo.

"I already have finished it," Draco wanted to sound bitter, but all he could hear was regret.

* * *

Hermione's sobs wracked her body. What had she done? She was _such _an imbecile. Such a fool to hope — to hope that things could be fixed, that Draco would open up to her. But she was also _so _angry. Furious at what her erratic, unjustifiable hope had lead her to do.

She didn't know how long she sat like that, on the cold floor of the tower, her underwear sticky and her face tired with the straining effort to summon continuous tears. The rain didn't stop, and eventually she felt arms around her, strong, soothing, masculine arms.

Her heart rate quickened, every cell in her body jumped at the thought of Draco coming back to her, but when she opened her eyes it was Theo — Theo comforting her. He was saying something, smoothing his hand over her back, telling her to calm down, to listen to him.

"—Hermione, whatever he's done — whatever he's said — _he loves you_. He loves you, okay? Don't ever listen to anything the idiot says otherwise — alright? Hermione?"

Hermione pulled back, shaking her head, "I — I d-don't think he does…" But when she looked up she saw Theo's concern, the truth in every line of his face, and the blood on his lip. "Wha—what h-happened?"

His brows softened, then frowned a little, and with a chuckle he said, "Draco happened."

Hermione's face fell, the name sending fresh barbs into her chest, making her more aware of the burning sensation between her thighs — the feeling of unfulfillment. She blushed, suddenly mortified at the situation, of what had happened — what she'd said and done — and at the state Theo had found her in. She needed to say something, anything. "I— I—"

But Theo only smiled at her, a sad smile, before he said, "Maybe I should just tell you. Because Draco won't. And from what I saw earlier, I'm quite sure your friends have the wrong idea."

Hermione groaned. "You — _you_ saw that?"

Theo nodded. "It's no matter, but I meant — um, what happened on camp, Hermione. Pansy Parkinson said some nasty things about you, spread some terrible rumours — but you need to understand — they're all lies. _Lies_. Pansy is a very selfish, jealous person, Hermione. And well — she and Draco have had an interesting relationship—" Hermione averted her face, her eyes stinging and her nostrils flaring, "—Hermione, look at me… You and I were never dating, am I correct?"

Hermione took in a hasty, uneven breath, but shook her head, both glad to know that she'd never hurt Theo's feelings in choosing Draco over him, yet sorry still in case she offended him in her denial.

"Exactly. So what makes you think anything else she says holds any truth?" He paused, waiting for her to answer, but Hermione couldn't say anything — she couldn't even swallow. "And, well — I don't mean to offend, but your friend — Ronald, he — well he's quite quick to believe anything anybody says, isn't he?

What was Theo saying? That everything was just a big misunderstanding? That Draco wasn't in a relationship with Pansy? "What do you mean?" She whispered.

"_Hermione_," Theo, calm, quiet Theo, almost sounded exasperated, frustrated, "Between Draco and Pansy — it was always — it was _only_ physical. He used her because he — because he thought he'd never be good enough for _you_."

Hermione wondered when the rain had stopped. Now, her thoughts were too loud, her heartbeat was too loud, and Theo was staring at her as if he'd just solved a maths problem. Hermione didn't know what to think, it was as if she'd already known what Theo was telling her, but at the same time it surprised her — let her _hope_. She let out a breath just as different words of Theo's crept to the precipice of her mind, "You said — before camp when you told me — you said Draco had problems with — with his dad. W-what'd you mean — problems?"

Theo's face became disappointed, as if he'd been hoping to hear something better. "I don't think — that is, I was never _certain_. I — I always had suspicions that Draco's father beat him — abused him. He never said anything to me — but I always had a feeling."

Something inside of Hermione convulsed, pushing pieces into place so that things which hadn't been before, became clear. The apprehension Draco'd had about his own home, about her seeing his father — the way he'd never wanted to talk about his parents, and the way she'd pushed him. She swallowed, trying to dislodge the hard stone of guilt in her throat. "And his mum? D'you think — does she get hurt too?"

Theo suddenly became very strange, as if shock was holding him back from uttering something incoherent. Eventually, he murmured, "Draco's mother died. A long time ago." Then he stood up, stretching his long limbs and muttering, "I don't think this is mine to share." He seemed to hesitate, then he reached down and offered Hermione his hand. She didn't take it, she only stared at it.

"He never told me," was all she could whisper, "H-he never said anything — _nothing_." Was it selfish of her to think this had anything to do with love — with trust? Is that why he refrained from telling her? Yet, the memory of his head in her lap, her fingers in his hair, was enough to tell her that time would have healed him. Time — It was the last remaining fragment which held them together.

Theo sighed, withdrew his hand, ran it through his hair. "Hermione," He said quietly, "will you give him another chance? A chance to tell you what he should have done before?"

Hermione clenched her fists in her lap, straightened herself, felt the way her thighs were clammy and wet beneath her stockings, and as the image of Draco using her, leaving her, washed into her mind and the echo of his last words rang through her ears, she uttered, "I don't know…"

* * *

Draco's intent was clear, determined, vengeful, and it came to a boil as he finally caught sight of Pansy turning into a girl's bathroom. Draco didn't care, he didn't wait to check if anyone had seen him follow her in — he didn't even care if someone found him in there — all he knew was his own vile rage.

He didn't let the door swing shut behind her, he held it open, slipped inside, and after rounding the corner he approached her back — she saw him coming in the mirror, her round eyes widened and the lipstick she'd been applying slipped down her chin. "Draco— wha—" He grabbed her jumper, shook her — his jaw clenched, his breathing harsh and uncontrolled — and then Pansy looked scared. Good.

"What the _fuck_ have you _done_?" He hissed, low and deadly.

"Draco — what are you doing in here!?" She gasped, trying to push him away.

"ANSWER ME!" The tendons in his neck pulled taught as he shouted, and Pansy shrunk away from him, still struggling. He backed her into the sinks so she couldn't get away.

"What do you mean — what have I done?" She replied in an indignant, panicked half whisper.

"What did you say to them — what the FUCK did you say about us!? About Hermione!?" He spat.

And then her face filled with smugness, even through her discomfort. "I told them she was a slut!" Satisfied. Proud. Draco growled, his face red with anger.

"You're a fucking bitch, Parkinson." He seethed, taking a step back and loosening his tie, his eyes wild. "What else? WHAT ELSE?"

Pansy's chest was heaving, her mouth agape, but something in the haughtiness of her body had withered — disappeared. "I — I— Draco why —"

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY!?" And then he lost it, he kicked the trash can, slammed his foot into the thin plaster of the wall, just as Pansy let out a wail—

"Draco! STOP!"

"Then tell me — fucking tell me or I'll —" he broke off, his teeth gnashed together, his fists itching to damage something, to make something fall apart in the same way his heart had.

"I told them Hermione Granger was a slut," She began, her tears not inducing a cent of sympathy as Draco glowered at her, fighting to remain calm, "I said — I said she'd stolen my boyfriend in eighth grade, and I said she'd — she'd taken _you_ — taken my boyfriend now and fucked him. And — and that she cheated on Theo—"

"Why — god DAMMIT WHY?"

"Because!" She sobbed, but as suddenly as her tears had come, so did her scream, "BECAUSE I WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU! AND YOU NEVER CARED — YOU NEVER FUCKING —"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP! FOR FUCK'S SAKE YOU'VE RUINED _EVERYTHING_! FUCKING EVERYTHING—"

But Pansy didn't stay to hear any more, she turned, nearly tripped with her desire to escape the bathroom, banging past the door — but Draco followed her, because he wasn't done — he needed to make sure _she_ hurt, just as much as he did, just as much as she'd made _him_ hurt.

The corridor was empty — empty aside from a lone silhouette at the far end — Draco didn't care though, he grabbed her arm, made her swivel and glare at him.

"Do you see what you've done? What you've fucking done to me! To Hermione!? YOU BITCH — YOU — you —" His voice was raw, pained, and his eyes fucking stung, "you—"

"HEY!" Both of their heads turned, because the figure they'd seen fit to ignore turned out to be Weasley, and he'd obviously just ran towards them, his expression bruised yet livid, "Leave her alone Malfoy!" And Draco did, he stepped back — not because Weasley wanted him to, but because he was astounded, dumbfounded at the intervention. And somehow, a part of him was glad and thankful, because he'd been so angry — so fucking angry — he didn't know what he would've done, and no matter his rage or fury, he'd never want to hit Pansy.

Weasley was like the dousing to fire.

Draco snorted, but every venomous insult got caught on his tongue, and he couldn't speak.

So he turned on his heel and left — left the school, walked home in the blistering rain, and if tears betrayed him, he'd never know.

* * *

**A/N: I'm sorry I can't please everyone - but I will continue to remove any downright negative review. If you don't like the story anymore (I did warn you at the start) then that's fine, but there's no need to rant at me in the comments. Thanks for reading! :)**


	23. Chapter 23

When Draco finally got home, soaked and dejected, his father was already there — pale faced, his hands wringing eachother, and when he heard the door creak closed he stopped pacing.

"Son— Draco. A word, please."

Draco didn't even notice the slip of the tongue, or the way he should have twitched at the word 'son', but didn't. He only dumped his bag in the entryway, turned into the living room, and sank down into one of the tattered arm chairs — it still smelled like alcohol. He didn't give a shit that the cushions might mould, or that the water from his clothes might stain the material — in fact, he didn't even feel the shock that would normally come if he were ever told he'd be sitting in the same room as his father, of his own accord.

"What?" He exhaled, rubbing his face, his eyes, watching as Lucius sat stiffly on the couch opposite him.

"Draco— what's the matter? You look ill—"

"Really? Funny how getting bashed in the bloody skull does that to you." Draco shifted, his sarcasm a defence, because the idea of his father's concern made him uncomfortable. He sighed. "Just fucking say it, alright? I've probably heard worse."

Lucius scowled and picked invisible lint from his sleeve, before composing his features and saying, "You remember your — your mother's niece, Draco? The one who married that trashy piece of homeless filth — your cousin, to be exact. Well she — she had a son, and recently I heard she was killed in a car accident. The husband too…"

Draco frowned — what? Was he meant to feel pity? Remorse? His cousin had always hated him. Why was his father telling him this?

Fuelled by his silence, the man continued. "The boy, well — Your aunt, Andromeda is abroad, and can't make it back, and well — she's asked me to — to look after the child. As, second to her, we are the last living relatives."

If Draco had been drinking anything, or swallowing any food, he was quite certain he would have spat it back up again. "What the fuck!? _You_?"

Lucius fidgeted, and there was a twist to his lips which told Draco he didn't appreciate being mocked. It was then when Draco realised that if this had been a month ago, he wouldn't be still sitting here, smart words trapped in his mouth — he'd be up in his bedroom, nursing a fresh bruise.

Draco cleared his throat, leant forward so his elbows rested on his knees, and eyed the man across from him. It was the first time, dare he admit it, that the slightest hint of curiosity was inducing Draco to question his father. "Since when have you even been on speaking terms with Andromeda? Last I remembered, she despised us… mother most of all."

"I — I extended an arm in times of family tragedy, she — she lost her husband, and then her daughter and son-in-law. I thought it was right — the good thing to do — to make amends, for us, for them and for — for Narcissa."

Draco's eyebrows rose, and he swallowed away whatever had risen in his throat upon hearing his mother's name — bile maybe, sharp and heavy.

"I did so shortly after my job offer…" Lucius trailed off, and Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because once again, here was the fucking job talk.

He might as well just get it over with and say it, even if his forced indifference outweighed his curiosity. "What job?"

Lucius raised his chin a little, his face smug, as if finally glad of the chance to brag. Although, he appeared to reign in some modesty before he replied, "I'm a secretary to a political head."

Draco scoffed, maybe even rolled his eyes. "Right. And I'm passing school with flying colours." Lucius looked as if he had something to say on that topic, and Draco, wanting to get out of this surreal situation as soon as possible, cut to the chase, "So the kid — what's its name?"

"Teddy." The name rolled off his father's tongue, almost ashamedly, as if he'd rather be saying anything else, and Draco laughed — actually laughed. It was a strange, choking laugh, but it still stunned both of the occupants in the room, and Draco felt heat rising in his cheeks.

He coughed, fisting his hands, "So, you're actually doing this? Going to be a father again? Cause no offence, but you kind of fucked up the first time."

The silence was tangible between them, and for a second Draco had the bizarre feeling he was about to apologise, but then his father brushed it off, and spoke sternly. "It shall only be for several months. I'll be picking the child up from the airport tomorrow afternoon. You, ah — you're welcome to accompany me, if you wish —"

Draco rushed to his feet — he couldn't handle it, couldn't handle whatever it was that forced this agreeable calmness to reside between them. It was foreign — wrong — and he definitely did _not_ welcome it!

He couldn't stay in the room, it was too awkward, so he made to leave, but Lucius abruptly stood, his voice halting him, almost pleading, "Draco, wait — there's something else."

Draco counted to ten in his head, listened to the sound of rustling fabric, as if something was being drawn from a pocket, and when his father came to stand before him, there was a flat, black, velvet box in his hand. Draco glared at it, suspiciously, wondering what the hell was inside it — what could his father possibly give him that he'd think Draco wouldn't ruin as soon as he received?

Lucius opened the box, and inside it sat a glittering necklace — the chain thin and dainty, but the jewel on the end wide and sparkling — an emerald green that came to a point in the shape of a tear drop. For a moment Draco thought it was a joke, his father offering _him_ jewellery, but then the man clarified, "I thought — I thought you might like to give this to Miss Granger. It was your mother's."

And Draco just wanted to scream, every bottled emotion he'd sealed that morning bubbling to the surface, but somehow he maintained a blank face, a dead voice, as he answered. "Forget it. She's not — we're not — it doesn't matter."

He didn't know what he was expecting, maybe for his father to close the box and put it out of mind, out of sight, but the look of anger — of disappointment, startled him.

"What happened?" Lucius asked with irritation.

Draco, bewildered, could only say, "It's none of your fucking business. Forget about it." He took a step back, but his father grabbed his shoulder, and for a second Draco feared that old habits were about to be fallen back into.

"What did you _do_ to her!?"

"Nothing — everything, okay!? Fucking _everything_! And I'm just so — _so sick _of it all!"

Alarmed, Lucius' disapproval suddenly seeped into something like sadness, and he whispered, "You selfish boy."

Draco glared, tearing his arm out of his father's hold, and hissing, "_So_? Why the fuck do you care? Just leave me _alone_ —"

"I CARE BECAUSE I'M YOUR FATHER!" Lucius roared, his face red, but the beating didn't come, and Draco wasn't scared. "And — and because that girl was the best thing for you that ever came into this house! You were… you were _happy_, Draco!"

Draco could only stare, his breathing coming in harsh pants. "How the hell would you know? How the _fuck_ would you know what makes me happy?!"

"I know because right now you _aren't_ happy! You're tormented! Regretful! And selfish —"

"SHUT UP! Who the hell do you think you are, telling me —"

"—_SELFISH_! Because right now you're making that kind girl _upset_! And for whatever reason, you're only thinking about yourself! And your own problems. Grow up, Draco! Grow up and for heaven sake, _don't_ make the same mistake I did — don't lose what's most important to you!"

Draco felt resentment in every inch of his body — resentment for himself, for his own mistakes. He couldn't meet his father's eyes, because he knew he would see shame, disappointment, and for some reason he couldn't cope with that right now. And because he knew his father was right, _so _entirely right, all he could get out was, "Fuck off."

Then he slouched off, shut himself in his room, but his intention of breaking something, destroying something, faltered. He lay on his bed for minutes, maybe hours, and when he eventually got up, he cleaned — tidied the mess he'd made yesterday, the truth of his father's words plaguing him like a shadow.

* * *

"You can stop looking at me like that, Granger. If you think I've come to give you the juicy details about Draco, spare me — I'm not that much of a bitch." Pansy Parkinson crinkled her nose up in distaste, brushing her hand over the bedcover before seating her rich, haughty behind on the mattress.

Hermione's pen was raised, halfway from where she'd been furiously gnawing on the end of it in her attempts to study, and hovering in the same position it'd been in, just above the paper, since her mother had knocked on her door, entered with a happy smile, and told her Pansy was here to see her.

Hermione, not quite paying attention, had said, "Okay, mum—" before realisation smacked her in the face like an ugly brick wall, and without ample time to respond, all she could do was let out a disgruntled gasp of confusion, before the skinny black haired girl strode into her bedroom, a fake smile plastered over her face which remained there until the two teenagers were left alone, and then turned into a pained look — similar to constipation — which marred the prominent point of her pouting lips.

"What — _what_ are you —"

"Oh, stop gaping like a fucking fish! Do you think I _want _to be here?" Pansy said, eyes darting to every crevice of Hermione's room, evident judgement in her expression. Hermione didn't care if Pansy Parkinson thought she had the room of a ten year old, she only crossed her arms and spun in her chair, planting her feet firmly on the ground as she faced the other girl.

"Why _are_ you here, then?" Hermione didn't need to ask how Pansy knew where she lived, their brief childhood friendship was enough of an answer, and Hermione hadn't moved house in fourteen years.

Before either girl could say anything, Hermione's phone buzzed insistently on the desk beside her, the screen flashing with Ron's name. She let it ring out, glaring at it with a sigh — it was the seventh time he'd called, and the seventh time she hadn't picked up.

When Hermione looked back at Pansy, she was startled to see the frown she aimed at the phone, and the delicate tinge of pink to her high cheekbones. "You — you should answer that." She said, all traces of snark gone, and only a resigned, guilt ridden honesty remained.

Hermione lifted a brow. "What? Why?"

"It's not his fault…"

"No offence, Pansy, but this is equally uncomfortable for me. And seeing as you're the one in _my_ house, feel free to leave, or get to the point. Because I'm quite busy."_ Busy _not_ studying and internally having a fit over the fact that my supposed boyfriend had sex with the girl sitting opposite me._

Pansy huffed, crossing one leg over the other. "I made a mistake, okay!? It's my fault — all of it! So just — just don't be mad at _him_, alright? It's not fair."

Anger flooded Hermione — how dare Pansy — someone who was rude to her, ignored her for the most part, and obviously hated her — come into _her _room and tell her who she should and shouldn't be upset with. The whole situation was utter bull!

"He lied to me!" She said angrily, "Lied to me about _you_, in case you hadn't noticed! So —"

"What? Who the fuck are you talking about?"

"Who do you think? You're sodding boyfriend!" Exasperated, Hermione threw her hands in the air.

"_What_? He and I had never even talked before camp! What the hell, Granger?"

"Talked? Really? Too busy doing other things, I presume!"

"Talked — yes! And I found out he's actually a really sensitive guy! And because I'm such a terrible fucking bitch I told him and every other bloody kid in the area that you were a slut because — because — ah for fuck's sake! I was jealous okay! Because for the whole fucking camp all he could do was look at his phone and wait for you to text him back!" Pansy was out of breath, and Hermione, never more confused in her life, looked at her as is if she were the proverbial elephant in the room.

"But — what? Draco didn't… he didn't go on camp?" She murmured to herself, jumping a little when Pansy growled.

"Draco? Draco! I'm not talking about Draco fucking Malfoy! I'm talking about — about — UGH — _Ron_!" Her usually pale face was flaming, making her hair appear even darker. Her eyes flickered to the once again ringing phone, and Hermione balked to notice they reeked of… jealousy?

"Ron?" She practically whispered. "_Ron_? But what about — what about Draco?"

Pansy rolled her eyes, and despite her red cheeks, she seemed to have recovered, because inspecting her nails with a snobby nonchalance, she said, "Draco's hot and all — okay _fine_ — I loved him, alright? —Fuck, I'm such a sap! But he never felt the same way, and I was just too much of a clingy bitch to realise it. Besides… I don't think I ever noticed how fucked up he was until — well until Ron told Crabbe to stop harassing me — Ugh, Crabbe, for years he's never known what '_no_' means — It was the first afternoon on camp, and afterwards all I could think about was how Draco never stood up for me like that… It was… eye opening, I guess. And, well, Ron's got that total look going for him — broad shoulders, freckles — it's kinda hot! Like a gentleman, you know? Oh, and the red head thing —"

"Okay, okay! Stop. God!" Hermione breathed, squeamish with the way Pansy was going on about her friend, and still beyond confused at what was going on — and even a little overwhelmed with nostalgia, because for a second it was as if they were thirteen years old again, playing with Mrs Parkinson's jewellery and giggling about boys. She cleared her throat, and when she looked up Pansy was chewing her lip, watching her with repressed excitement.

"Granger — do you mean… you _don't_ find Ron attractive?"

"What! God, no — I mean, he's nice and all, but—"

"What the hell's wrong with you!?"

"Well excuse me for — hang on — I still don't understand. Are you saying that you —you don't—"

"Give a shit about Draco? Yes," Pansy let out a frustrated sigh, "Bloody hell, Granger. I thought you were meant to be smart?"

Hermione ignored the insult, her mind whirring. "So what do you want? Why are you still here?"

"Look. I just want to set things right, okay? 'Cause I'm _so_ over being the bad guy — girl — whatever. And even though I'm not hung up over Draco anymore, I don't want to lose him as a friend. He's a pretty loyal guy…" Hermione quirked an eyebrow, and Pansy rushed on awkwardly, "as much as you wouldn't think so — but trust me, he's fucking crazy about you. Literally, _insane_. He followed me into the ladies' room today — I'm not kidding — and had this fucking fit because he found out I lied to everyone. It was fucking mental — I actually thought he was going to hit me—" she broke off, suddenly looking troubled, "— he's not, you know, abusive or anything — don't get me wrong — but he's just really… extreme, I guess. I've never seen him get that worked up about anything before. It was pretty intense. Anyway — so I ran out, and that's when he became really fucking mad — as if kicking the wall in hadn't been enough — but before he could say anything else Ron was there! Like he'd been looking for me! Concerned, you know!? And he told Draco to fuck off and he was super angry about it, and I thought another fight was gonna break out — you wouldn't know the feeling, Granger, but I've had _so_ many guys fight over me in the past, it get's pretty annoying after the first time — anyway, what was I saying? Oh, right — Ron! God, he was fucking hot — coming to rescue me like that! Kinda like he already knew where I was — that's weird — but d'you reckon — d'you think Ron might… y'know… _like_ me?"

Hermione, who had been incredibly still throughout Pansy's entire breathless monologue, couldn't care less if Ron liked the girl — well yes it was a strange, uncomfortable mental image to think about them in a relationship — but all Hermione could think about was Draco's reaction, and whether or not Pansy was telling the truth. She must be, though, what with coming to Hermione's house and all.

Suddenly, realising she'd been asked a question, Hermione answered, "Um — yeah — sure — he might."

Pansy eyed her knowingly. "As much as I hate to say this, Ron seems to think pretty highly of you and — and well after Draco left us in the hallway — me and Ron — I kind of just broke down and cried like a fucking baby. I'm pretty sure the truth came out somewhere, too, about the lying and stuff… so… I think he's trying to apologise."

Trying to ignore the idea of Pansy crying on Ron's shoulder, Hermione stuttered, "R-right."

Pansy got to her feet, brushing her skirt down and smoothing her hair. "So… Granger. Promise you won't lead Ron on? Okay? Tell him how it is, that you don't like him so he can stop acting like a fucking love sick puppy and see what a real woman looks like — no offence. Oh and — um — good luck with Draco, I guess. You _are _going to give him another chance, right? Cause otherwise I pretty much came here for nothing."

Pansy's question reminded her of Theo's, and all Hermione wanted to do was dunk her head in a bucket of ice cold water. She didn't say anything — everything inside her head was too muddled, too entwined in an endless jumble of confused thoughts.

Pansy sighed and crossed her arms. "Look, if it means anything to you, then — the last time we fucked was before term even started and — and he said _your_ name. It was pretty insulting, really. Anyway, I'm going. Oh! And just for the record, Granger, this doesn't change anything — I'm only here because I want Ron to like me. Me and you — we're not friends. Alright? See you round."

And then she left, leaving Hermione to stare, white and stricken, into the air around her — the air which was having a hard time getting into her lungs. She didn't know if what Pansy told her made her feel better or worse — yet she felt she might be somewhat closer to making up her mind, and she had a feeling that, as opposed to Pansy's departing words — this changed things quite a bit.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for all your reviews! They mean so much to me!**

**Just incase I have any readers who haven't read the books, Andromeda is Nymphadora Tonk's mum, and Teddy is the son of Lupin and Tonks (who, sadly wasn't in the movies at all, even though he's Harry's godson. *slams head against table* *rallies for a 100 hour HP tv series that includes every frkn detail.*)**

**So this chapter was pretty much just a load of dialouge -Dramione will get back into action eventually... :) *admits I'm a guilty traitor because Drarry has been vying for my attention lately***

**And I'm blabbing because it's late and I'm tired and I have 2 hours to kill in a library, writing fanfic on my phone. Anyway, thanks for reading, hope you enjoy the update!**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I am so so sorry this is such a late update. I had massive writer's block in the middle of this chapter, and left it unfinished for a couple of weeks. I feel like a lot of tension had been unleashed from the last few chapters, and now this and the last chapter is just sort of a stagnant decline. Things will pick up again soon, I've just taken a little break (and have begun a multi chaptered Drarry story if anyone's interested — so yes my OTPs have been warring against eachother, vying for my attention *mopes*) and have been watching way too many Korean dramas. Anyway, this weekend at my local cinema there's an all night HP marathon of the first 4 films which is going to be absolutely amazing (and leave me absolutely exhausted) so yay — I'm super excited! **

**Okay on with the story — by the way, I don't plan on giving up on this fic, so don't worry (I've invested myself in it too much haha) And for anyone who has read my other WIP Dramione story, 'Inconvenient Ideals' I'm sorry to say it may or may not be on a semi permanent hiatus (I should probably say that there not here. oops) As it was my first fanfiction, let alone an attempt at a novel length one, I kind of rushed into it without any ideas for the plot, and in my eyes it turned out to be a complete mess. I also feel like the general plan I was going for had been done a lot before — and a lot better, of course. So unless I get some massive brainwaves for that one I won't be continuing (but don't worry, you won't be missing out on much.)**

**Sorry for the super long AN, hope you enjoy this sadly short chapter! xx**

* * *

Hermione stared at the phone ringing in her hand.

What just happened?

Pansy Parkinson… liked… Ron?

A little sadistic bubble of laughter escaped her — because that'd be the perfect repayment for Ron, right? Telling him he had a stuck-up, foul-mouthed girl hankering after him?

Her phone buzzed once — perhaps Ron had given up with the calling and had instead opted for the good old fashioned text message. Either way, she still wasn't going to reply.

Only it wasn't from Ron, it was from Theo.

_Theo, 7.08pm: Hi Hermione, I hope you're feeling okay, and was wondering if you'd meet me at the park by the school tomorrow morning. 8.30 if you're up to it? Theo. _

Hermione sighed. Theo was just about the only person she could manage neutral feelings for at the moment. Although, she was a bit embarrassed by the way she'd blabbered in his arms earlier, and she only hoped the rain had been enough to wash away the lingering smell of sex and smoke — the lingering smell of Draco — which had probably been all over her.

The same unpleasant something which had been twisting in her stomach all afternoon resurfaced.

Draco. Everything came back to him, didn't it? Every problem. And Hermione was almost scared because for the first time in weeks, she didn't want to see him, didn't want to talk to him. Not yet. Because he'd pretty much torn everything to pieces — every hope, every belief she'd had that Pansy hadn't meant anything to him. Pansy had basically confirmed that herself, so why did Draco do the vulgar thing she'd asked him to do? Why did he use her, and walk away like it was easy? Why did he have to be such a goddamn martyr? Hermione was beyond hurt, infuriated and confused, so much so that she'd actually considered taking the day off school tomorrow, pretending she was sick so she could stay at home and hide from her problems behind her pillow.

She didn't want to see Ron, because she still couldn't believe he'd stick up for Pansy in the first place, and she bitterly and childishly admitted she didn't want to see Harry either — because he'd taken Ron's side over hers. Well, that was to be expected, she supposed, the two of them had been friends for a long time before she came along. Besides, there had been that weary look, the look of guilt and sorrow, that Harry had aimed at her before she'd raced off — and dare her pride allow her to think it, but _she'd_ been the pathetic one in that situation. Running from confrontation. Just like Draco had done, time and time again. Is this why he'd done it? Because he couldn't stand the look which he knew he'd see on her face? He had seen it though, everyone had seen it. The way she'd stood there looking dumb, humiliated and upset when Ron had shouted at her and called her a slut, when he'd told her that her boyfriend was a liar. But Draco didn't run then, he'd fought, come to her defence, and even though she was disappointed and hurt by both of his and Ron's actions, that still had to mean something, right?

She let out a moan and bit her lip — did she want it to mean something? Or would everything just be better, easier, if she were to forget about Draco and move on?

The twitching thing in her belly pulsed, died a little, and she knew without a doubt that there wouldn't be anything simple about walking away from Draco. He'd been able to walk away from her, though, and that was the whole problem, the most unsettling thing which span in circles around her gut and turned her melancholy into fury.

Forgetting about Draco was out of the question, impossible — but forgiving him? That might prove to be just as hard.

* * *

It was dark, cold and almost 9pm when Hermione got a message from Harry.

There were four boys she was currently ignoring; one who called every five minutes and gave Hermione a deviant pleasure in ignoring him, another who she shouldn't be avoiding but was too embarrassed to face, a third who was most likely ignoring her back, and a fourth who she thought she'd been mad at, who was now apparently waiting outside on her front doorstep, inducing a rush of concern and surprise in Hermione.

She didn't realise her duck printed pyjama pants would be a problem until after she opened the door and Harry's smirk told her all she needed to know. His smile was wiped away, though, when Hermione crossed her arms, and was replaced with a furrow of pleading thick brows, and a look of remorse half hidden behind foggy round glasses.

"Harry, what are you _doing_ here?"

He rubbed his hands together, breathed on them, his cheeks tinted with the cold. "To see you — to apologise."

"And you couldn't just call?"

Harry looked uncomfortable for just a second. "Well — er — Ron said that wasn't exactly working, so I thought I'd —"

"Come all the way to my house at 9pm and give me no choice but to take sympathy on you and invite you in for some hot cocoa?"

They stared at eachother for just a moment, before Harry laughed, and Hermione snorted. "Yeah, sounds about right," he said. She stood back to let him in, but he let out a hesitant grunt. "Your parents won't mind?"

"Oh, no. They're probably already asleep — their work usually has them rise at the crack of dawn." Hermione clicked the door closed quietly.

"Right," Harry nodded, "_dentists_."

"Dentists. Besides, even if they were awake, they know you're not going to compromise their daughter's innocence." Hermione said jokingly, flicking the light on in the kitchen. When she turned around to offer Harry a tentative smile, she was surprised to see him fidgeting and pulling the back of his hair — a nervous trait she knew he did in awkward situations. "Harry—?"

"Hermione — look — I know I don't really have any say — and I know it's your choice and everything, but — but Malfoy? Are you sure, I mean —"

Hermione sighed. She knew this would be what was coming. "Harry. Please, can we not talk about this?"

Harry grimaced as if he'd very much like to talk about it, as if he'd explode if he didn't, but he gave a weary nod and passed her the two mugs she'd asked for.

"So, how was camp?" Hermione enquired as she put the kettle on, trying to keep her voice steady.

"What — oh. Yeah, alright, I s'pose. Er — that's something else I needed to tell you bout. 'Mione, don't be weirded out by this or anything — actually it is pretty weird — but I think Ron likes Parkinson."

Hermione couldn't suppress the snort, and before she knew it she was giggling, and had to bring a hand up to cover her mouth.

Harry gave her a puzzled, almost suspicious look, "You're not surprised?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Pansy was just here — a few hours ago. Telling me how hot she thinks Ron is, and that he's apparently worth my forgiveness."

Harry looked like he'd been slapped. "She was _here_? She — she likes him back? Parkinson?"

Hermione spooned liberal amounts of cocoa into each mug and gave Harry a grim smile. He visibly swallowed.

"Blimey. Alright — that's er — good news. I s'pose."

Hermione stopped stirring. "You don't sound too pleased." Harry shrugged, then seemed to bite his lip. Hermione's eyes narrowed as she took in the way he tugged his sleeve nervously. "What?"

Harry sighed. "It's just — I hoped — _thought_ — that Ron and you would — you know — become an item—" Hermione glared. "Maybe — One day." Her nostrils flared. "Or not. Pretend I didn't say anything."

She tried not to slam the mugs down on the table, but probably failed, if Harry's wince was anything to go by.

"Sorry," Harry said softly, taking a sip of hot chocolate, "and thanks — this is great." Hermione stopped herself from smiling, still a little peeved at Harry's presumptions. She cupped her own drink in her hands, the hot ceramic warming her skin, just as her annoyingly persistent friend continued, "Look — 'Mione — about Ron — he's really sorry and —"

"Harry. Stop it. Seriously. If you're going to keep on pestering me to forgive Ron then you might as well leave. I'll get there in my own time, I don't need you butting in and making things worse. I just need time to… to — _I don't even know!_" Hermione startled herself when the last part came out as a sob. Her eyes stung, and she raised her hands to angrily swipe at her cheeks.

Harry looked guiltily between her and the table, and then stood up to move around it and kneel in front of her. "I'm sorry I'm such an idiot…" he grabbed her hand, gave it a squeeze, "I guess — I've just never been friends with a — with a girl before. And it's sort of… difficult. I mean — not in a bad way — just different — and confusing, _really_ confusing. I feel all these weird things I've never felt before — like the urge to punch Malfoy in the face for treating you wrongly. What's worse is — 'Mione — I even felt mad at Ron for what he said to you — and then I felt even worse for being angry at my best mate, and angry at myself for not doing anything when he was shouting at you… and I guess… I also felt pretty shocked — upset, even — when we heard about you and Malfoy. But even though I haven't known you for very long, I know you're a great friend, you're brilliant and smart, and I know you wouldn't let a guy boss you around. So yeah — I'm really sorry, 'Mione, and I won't bring up Ron again." Harry ended in a rush of breath, and then looked somewhat stunned, as if he hadn't realised he had such a confession in him.

Hermione choked over a hiccup, not knowing what to say. "Oh, _Harry_." She offered him a watery smile, and tried to ignore the nagging guilt in her chest — because she had, in fact, already let a boy boss her around, in a certain sense. She inhaled shakily and squeezed Harry's hand back. "Thankyou."

He grinned at her, crooked but warm, and for the first time all day Hermione felt glad that she had someone she could now face, knowing how earnest he was, and that he wouldn't turn around and stab barbs of betrayal into her back. She was lucky to find such a friendship in Harry.

* * *

Hermione crushed the bark beneath her shoes, relishing in the way it snapped and cracked, distracted her from the too-loud harassment of her thoughts.

She'd woken early — too early — and had warred with herself over her dilemma whether to cowardly stay home from school or not. In the end she'd forced herself to get up, the mantra of exams coming up playing repeatedly through her head and acting as her backbone. Besides, she'd wanted to meet with Theo this morning, even though she'd rather avoid all human contact for another day, especially the boy who had walked in on her sobbing like an infant after she'd only just had enough time to pull up her knickers and stockings.

A bird chirped overhead as Hermione neared the park. She could see the gaudily coloured blues and reds of the swing poles through the mosaic of tree leaves, could vaguely distinguish the lines of a figure on the seat, the slope of slouched shoulders and a shock of blonde hair —

And it wasn't Theo, it was Draco.

He sat there, alone, his head bowed, and Hermione could see wisps of smoke rising over his shoulder.

For a second all she felt was shock, then anger — because Theo wasn't there, Theo wasn't coming — and this had obviously just been some sick plan, some stupid hoax to get them to speak to eachother.

Maybe this was for the best though, because Draco probably wouldn't approach her otherwise, and Hermione had a mouthful of heated words to throw at him, she'd just hoped she would have had more time to organise her thoughts and emotions before any actual confrontation.

She swallowed thickly, her hands fisting tightly and her nails digging into her skin. If she were a coward, she'd probably turn around right now and run away, and pretend she'd never met two boys by the names of Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy — but she was Hermione Granger, and braveness had always been a trait she'd modestly fancied in her possession. She took a deep breath and a step forward, the tight thumping in her chest enough for her to want to keel over. After that, however, all the other steps became easier, and Hermione found herself striding towards where Draco sat with his back to her on the swing, with a newfound confidence swelling inside of her.

That confidence desperately tried to evaporate as she saw him lower his hand, a trail of smoke following the gesture, and turn his body slightly as if he heard her coming. Hermione clung onto her firm resolution, and walked closer until the blond stood up and threw his cigarette butt into the dirt, stomping on it and giving a frustrated growl. Hermione was glaring at the spot between his shoulder blades, and barely had time to note he wasn't wearing his school uniform before Draco spun around and swore, "Goddam it Theo! What was so important that it couldn't —"

Draco's voice choked off, and Hermione saw the exact moment where he realised it was her — his eyes widened, his face paled, and his lips thinned into a harsh line.

And then he averted his eyes, as if he didn't want to see her, and every ounce of hurt and sadness Hermione still held onto slipped away into a tumult of anger as she closed the gap between them.

* * *

**Ugh I'm sorry that ended up being mostly dialogue as well... just needed to clear things up between Harry and Hermione (I find their platonic relationship so heartwarming! And it always ticks me off when people say they should have been together romantically. I'd rather her with Ron than Harry - they're too much like siblings) I'm quite sure my writer's block for this fic has cleared off... thankfully! I'll try and update soon! Thanks for reading :)**


	25. Chapter 25

"_You_— what are you _doing_ here!?" Hermione charged forwards, stopped short a few feet away from Draco, and clenched her jaw to stop herself from screaming at him. Her anger couldn't come just yet, not until she coherently told him what she needed to say.

Draco's eyes flashed to hers for a brief moment before dropping to the ground.

Hermione supposed it'd been a stupid question, because obviously Theo was why they were both here, but she still couldn't help but be irritated by Draco's lack of response. Hermione crossed her arms tightly over her chest, inhaling deeply, hoping the action would help contain the outburst she knew was coming.

Draco still didn't say anything, so Hermione studied the way the sun caught his eyelashes, shadowed the sharp crease between his eyebrows. She chewed her lip, swallowing something heavy and bitter in her throat, and looked away, up into the trees, at the sky, _anything _— anything was easier than dealing with the pangs in her chest which came with staring at Draco.

Angry tears stung the corners of her eyes as she took a trembling breath and whispered, "_I loved you._" Something in Draco's face softened, and his stormy eyes widened. Hermione cleared her throat, she needed to sound stronger, more assured. "And you just pushed me away. Again and again!" Her voice became higher with every word, and now the tears were streaming hotly down her cheeks.

"Hermione…" Draco's voice cracked, and Hermione took a step back, shaking her head.

"You never trusted me, did you? Otherwise you would have said something — would have told me—" She faltered, hastily bringing her hands up to scrub at her leaking eyes. When she managed to school her features into a glare, Draco's expression had hardened again. "It didn't _have_ to be this way!"

"What way?" Draco asked lowly, his gaze penetrating and _broken_.

"You don't want anything to do with me," Hermione was speaking mostly to herself, her voice tight, "and the worst thing is, I still _want this _— I still want to make this work — but I can't — I can't because you might never trust me enough to tell me the truth! And that hurts, Draco. It hurts a lot. So until you're ready to try — _really try_ — I can't keep waiting around, having my feelings played with!"

Draco was so still in front of her, like a statue carved out of ice, and the look on his face, the look of a hate which was directed at no one but himself, shone out of every line of his body, coiling towards Hermione and making her want close the gap between them and just _hold_ him.

But she wouldn't. Not anymore. She wouldn't be used again. "Three weeks," Hermione said with a resolution she didn't know she had. She smudged the rest of her tears away, tried to keep her breathing steady when the surprise in his eyes met her steady gaze, "You have three weeks to prove to me that you've changed. That you won't hurt me again. Until then we can pretend nothing's happened between us — go about as — as normal. After those weeks are up, and if you've got nothing to say, then — then I'll forget everything I've ever known about Draco Malfoy." Her voice came out as a half-kindled sort of thing, a dying flame, nearly lifeless, and she willed her throat muscles not to give way to the sob which so desperately wanted to escape.

She would not look at his face, she would _not_. Hermione squeezed her eyes closed, felt them sting and burn, and then she turned to leave, turned to live her life as normally as she could with her heart feeling like some barely-there organ, and her hope fighting to stay alive.

Everything depended on Draco now, she told herself, if he was worth it, worth the sense of loss and longing which would war inside of her for the next three weeks, then so be it. If he wasn't, then Hermione would just have to get over it.

As she took the first step away from him she could have sworn she felt the ghost of a touch against her elbow, and it almost gave her pause, but she wouldn't give in. Not yet.

Three weeks would be a sickeningly long time.

* * *

Draco stood dumbfounded in the empty park, his hand still outstretched, as if it'd bring her back, bring her back to fix the gaping hole inside his chest.

But Hermione was gone.

'_I loved you._'

Draco felt like gagging, like breaking something, and his fingers were trembling as he reached into his pocket for his cigarette packet.

He didn't take one out, though, he just stared furiously at it, as though conveying every amount of distress and angst into the way he crushed it in his fist. He launched the box across the park, relished in the way it smacked against the slide and fell into the bark, relished in the way his growl of frustration and despair seemed to go unheard in the playground.

Fuck, _why?_ Why did he have to go and fall in love with a girl who they both knew was too good for him?

"Draco…"

Draco whirled around, saw Theodore Nott strolling innocently towards him, and immediately advanced on his friend, grabbing him by his shirt and seething, "You _fucking bastard_, Nott. You —"

Theo shoved Draco's arm away, took a step back, and indignantly straightened his tie, all the while wearing an angry mask of discomposure. Draco was a little stunned, because not only had Theo, always the calm and collected one, used Draco's choice method of conflict against him — force — he also looked like the bubble of his impenetrable temper had finally been punctured.

"Are you bloody stupid, Draco!? If I hadn't done this then you would've never grown a pair and —"

Draco hit him. Hard. Theo staggered back, and Draco managed to let out a ragged breath before Theo punched him equally as hard.

The blow was something Draco hadn't felt since his father had last hit him, and it was like a wakeup call, knocking him to the side and blurring his vision before it became clearer.

Draco heaved and straightened, eyeing the way his friend was practically panting, his lanky frame unused to the exertion.

They stared at eachother.

Draco cracked first, the corner of his mouth lifting into a defeated smile, and slumped onto the ground, cross-legged. As Theo mimicked him, Draco cupped handfuls of tanbark, watching the brown dust coat his pale fingers. It was a stark contrast, but it seemed to work, and strangely enough it reminded him of he and Hermione.

Draco was going to say something, anything to break the silence, but Theo got there first, his voice soft, almost whimsical, "You left her, Draco — you didn't want her anymore and she was so — so upset. I went up there, fully intending to take her from you, to win her heart — but when I saw her, broken — crying, on the floor like that I just — I couldn't. Because she loves you. And if you don't see that then you're the biggest fucking idiot in the world."

Draco's heart clenched painfully.

'_I loved you._'

"'M not so sure," he muttered.

"Oh, spare me the self-pity, mate. You'll make me nauseous," Theo's tone was light and playful, but behind it Draco could detect a faint trace of misery.

"You like her, then? Hermione?" Draco asked softly, fearing the answer.

Theo hummed, stretched back on his arms, "'M not so sure," he said eventually.

Draco glared at him, "Prat."

"Hermione is a wonderful person. And you're a very big masochist," Theo told him honestly, his lips curved slightly as if it were amusing.

"Got that already. And?"

"_And_, you shouldn't let her go."

"I've only got three weeks," Draco said dejectedly, throwing pieces of bark out onto the grass.

"Three weeks can be an awfully long time."

"Bullshit."

"Yes, you're full of it," Theo laughed quietly at his own retort, and after a few moments of nothing he continued, "I'm a selfish person, Draco. I wanted to see what was so special about the girl my best mate had eyes for. I didn't expect to like what I saw. She was smart, honest, down to earth, but not quite my type."

"Oh?" Draco perked up after being glad and offended at the same time, "you have a type?"

Theo gave him a tight smile, looking up to the sky that so matched his eyes, and nodded slightly.

"Care to elaborate?" Draco prodded, gazing at his friend curiously.

Theo's eyes flickered, searched Draco's for several seconds, and at length replied, "I like boys, Draco." Draco blanched, his eyes widening, but Theo pressed on, "And before you ask, no, I'm not in love with you."

"But — but I thought you just said you wanted to win Hermione's—"

"I like girls too," Theo stated simply, "But I prefer males."

"Right," Draco murmured, then, turning to his friend, asked exasperatedly, "How come you never told me before?"

Theo shrugged, "I suppose I thought you'd react negatively."

Draco shook his head, frowning into the crisp morning air, "What? And lose the only friend I've managed to keep in years?"

Theo grinned, before schooling his features and saying, "I think the reason that's true is because we never talk about _feelings, _Draco."

Draco snorted, ignoring his friend's warning, "So is there — er — any _guy _you fancy, then?"

Theo stood, stretched his limbs, "Maybe. But I'm not telling you."

"Why not?" Draco asked, affronted, as he got to his feet too.

"Because, you'd take the Mickey out of me if I did." Theo began to walk away, his hands in his pockets, but turned at the last minute and said, "Draco? Remember to pick up that cigarette packet and put it in the bin when you leave. We don't want some poor child finding it and following your example."

Draco smiled, and surprisingly, he found it was genuine. "Whatever," Theo gave him a nod of departure, and continued walking. Draco's shout came before he could stop it, "Hey — Theo — thanks!" His friend didn't say anything, but Draco saw the lines of his shoulders shake with unmistakeable laughter.

* * *

Hermione waited behind the school gates, hugging her books to her chest and licking her dry lips. When they finally arrived, one head of ginger and the other black, just like yesterday morning, Hermione walked up to them with grim determination. She didn't stop when Harry said good morning to her, or when Ron cast his eyes away and blushed bright red, she only moved right up to them, slapping Ron squarely across the cheek.

A few passing students gave them astonished glances and proceeded to whisper behind their hands, but Hermione took no notice. "Good morning, Harry," she said, without looking away from Ron, who she told, "I'm glad you found yourself a girlfriend. You two are pretty much perfect for eachother."

Ron blinked stupidly at her, mouth opening and closing, until he said, "I'm really sorry for what I said, 'Mione."

"Good," she clutched her books tightly, forbidding herself from feeling guilty. "You should be. Now that's out of the way, let's get to class." Hermione swivelled, her hair trailing after her like an afterthought.

Ron gave Harry a sideway, bloody-hell-although-I-suppose-I-deserved-that kind of look, and then sped up to walk beside Hermione, offering to take her books. Hermione only shook her head fiercely, telling him she didn't want him to drop them, even though her lips tugged smugly into a smile.

* * *

Hermione petulantly ignored Theo's friendly greeting as she sat down between Harry and Ron in the Art room, sighing as she got out her visual diary and scrounged around in her bag for a pencil sharpener.

"What's up with you and Nott? I thought you were friends?" Ron whispered to her.

Hermione raised her nose, replying snappishly, "We _are_."

Ron looked like he was about to argue, but was thankfully stopped when Pansy Parkinson strutted into the room, and his face was overcome with a disgusting, worshipful look as he watched her pass.

Sickened, Hermione rolled her eyes and sharpened her pencil, childishly sweeping the shavings onto Ron's side of the desk, even though he didn't seem to notice, as he was too busy drooling over Pansy's ass until she took a seat at Theo's table.

Hermione felt like stabbing Ron in the hand with her lethally pointy pencil, if only to get him to pay attention to what Mrs Trelawney was going on about, when the classroom door swung open for the third time, and Draco Malfoy came in, his uniform neat and immaculate, and Hermione felt her mouth go dry.

He didn't look at her, in fact he moved right past where she stiffly sat, and up to the teacher, who looked both intrigued and perplexed at being addressed by him.

"Sorry I'm late, Miss," Draco said casually, and the whole class had just about frozen, because Draco Malfoy never apologised to anybody, _especially_ teachers, and Hermione didn't know what was stranger, the fact that Draco was here at all, or the fact that Harry was sympathetically squeezing her hand beneath the table.

All Hermione knew was that her heart was fluttering uncontrollably, and the hope which she'd previously feared for now sparked to life with a vengeance.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry that was so short, but yay, an update! The next one will be quicker, I promise. Thanks for reading, and as always, hope you enjoyed! :)**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Hey, here's a quick update! I'm getting a big tattoo on my arm tomorrow so it'll probably ache for a few days and inhibit my typing ability. Hopefully not, or I just might die. ****Anyway, thanks for everyone's continued support for this story, your kind reviews mean so much to me! :)**

* * *

After Theo left, Draco had stared at the swaying swing, his mind pulling him back several days, days which felt like weeks, and showing him the moment he'd knelt there, with his head in Hermione's lap, her hands brushing his hair and stroking his jaw.

He'd thought about the way the sun made a halo of gold around her toffee-coloured hair, and the way he'd wanted to press his lips to each and every one of the freckles which dusted across her nose.

He'd thought about how her skin felt pressed against his, soft and firm and beautiful.

He'd thought about the noises she'd made next to his ear, moans and quiet sighs of pleasure.

Most of all, Draco'd thought about the way her lips moved when she'd told him she loved him, what her words had done to the unyielding construct around his heart — broken his walls, freed him.

And Draco knew then, that he'd never be able to give her up.

* * *

"Whatever stick Malfoy's had up his arse seems to have gone awol," Ron paused, evidently waiting for a response, but Hermione just bit her lip and steadfastly avoided looking toward the back of the room. "Are you two still — er — y'know…"

"That's none of your business!" Hermione hissed at him, scribbling into her visual diary, drawing something which looked like a dying stick figure. She'd never been very artistically gifted.

Ron's expression turned into one of defeat, and with a sulky turn of his head he began an enthusiastic discussion about soccer with Seamus.

"Are you okay?" Harry whispered from Hermione's other side.

She sighed, "I'll tell you later."

Harry nodded, not pressuring her, and continued his own picture, which Hermione gazed at with jealousy. Since their first art class together she'd had to grudgingly come to terms with the fact that her friend was better at a subject than her, and was indeed, rather good at drawing.

Hermione looked away and grumbled just as Mrs Trelawney's warbling voice rang out, "Now class! As you've all had time with the warm up sketches, I'd like to now discuss the final project for the semester. It is a group task, and I've taken the liberty of arranging you into your groups by your first names so as to avoid any unnecessary — ah — conflict," Hermione exchanged hopeful glances with Harry while their teacher coughed rather violently, banged her chest, and continued, "Group 1 will be, Anthony Goldstein, Bradley Hooper, Brandt Newman, and Dean Thomas."

There was a series of dissatisfied mumbles amongst the students as they realised they'd be separated from their friends.

"Group 2 shall be Draco Malfoy," Hermione's heart contracted a little at the name, "Gregory Goyle, Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger."

Hermione's stomach fluttered and her chest pulsed, swallowing nervously as Harry leant against her shoulder and whispered, "At least we're together. Sorry about, er, you-know-who."

Hermione exhaled, moving her pencil in random patterns over the page, if only to have something to do to distract her. She didn't hear the teacher call out the rest of the groups, but she did see Ron fist pump the air and grin widely, saying, "Yes! Thank god no one in this class has a name starting with 'Q!'"

Hermione just shook her head, but couldn't help but look over at Pansy, who was watching Ron with a shy smirk and a pretty blush on her cheeks.

"Gross," Hermione muttered, wishing there'd been students in the class with names beginning with 'E' or 'F,' so she wouldn't have to be with Draco. Then again, it wasn't like she was disappointed, she was just worried she'd be too anxious around him to concentrate, and thus the reason their group might fail.

"Alright now, children, everyone hush! I'd like you all to go and sit with your groups, and begin brainstorming ideas for the project. Please remember you only have several weeks to complete this, and therefore teamwork is essential. Any questions, I'll be in the back room making a pot of tea."

Ron almost tripped in his haste to get up and join Pansy, and clenching her teeth, Hermione shouldered her bag and gave Harry a 'come-on-lets-get-this-over-with' look. Harry trudged along behind her, and Hermione, not understanding her friend's apparent hesitance in heading over to the back of the room, and being in the bad mood she was, barked at him to hurry up.

Hermione briefly noted Theo's group surrounding the other end of the table, and once again she refused to meet his smiling eyes, instead glaring at the spot where Draco and Goyle sat, Goyle with his arms crossed over his large torso, and Draco with his chin his hand, doodling something in his notebook.

Hermione slumped down in the seat opposite them, and Harry gingerly sat on the bench next to her, frowning at the table.

Hermione was about to skip the greetings and just dive straight into it, but before she could even open her mouth Draco said calmly, "well, good thing we have Potter's art skills and Hermione's brains on our team. Right, Goyle?" He elbowed his friend, who'd been a second away from falling asleep and now jerked upright, giving a noncommittal grunt of agreement.

Harry had stiffened next to Hermione, and he eyed Draco skeptically, not saying anything.

Hermione tried to pretend she wasn't blushing, and said, "Right. So, does anyone have any ideas?"

Goyle blinked stupidly, "Uh, we could do one of 'em, what you call its? A Muriel or some shit."

"Mural," Draco replied instantly, stealing the correction which had been about to slip from Hermione's tongue. Goyle grunted again, and Draco nodded indifferently and wrote the idea down. Hermione took up Harry's method of distraction and stared at a mark on the table, so as not to ogle the delicately slanting script of Draco's hand writing. "A mural of what?"

Goyle shrugged and began to tear up strips of paper, roll them into tiny balls, and then throw them at Vincent Crabbe's head, narrowly missing Theo's cheek.

"I think there's far more interesting things we could do than a painting on a wall," Hermione said, attempting to speak as clearly as possible. Draco looked up from his page, and their eyes met.

Hermione swallowed, quickly averting her gaze.

Draco turned to Harry, "You're the artist, Potter, got anything good?"

Harry blanched, "What — I — er — Well… we could do some kind of mosaic, like a mosaic of eyes?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, "Eyes?"

"Everyone in the year's eyes. It'd be cool — like some yearbook identity crap, but just the eyes. I reckon eyes can tell you a lot about a person."

Draco stared at Harry, and Hermione got the chance to study _his_ eyes. Grey, penetrating, never-ending emotion. She both agreed and disagreed with her friend's statement, because while Draco's eyes told her she loved him, they'd never confirmed if _he_ loved_ her._

_"_Not bad, Potter," Draco said eventually, jotting it down. Hermione felt oddly proud of her friend, and guilty for snapping at him earlier.

"That's a great idea, Harry," Hermione told him. He looked a little awkward, but managed to beam at her.

Draco scrunched his brow, then put his pen down, "Although, I hate to break it to you, but not all of us are as talented as you are." He cast a meaningful look at Goyle, who chuckled as Crabbe finally stood up seething, paper balls falling from his shirt collar.

"We could each be assigned to a different task," Hermione said keenly, "Gregory can go around with a camera and photograph everybody's eyes, if they consent to it, obviously — because that's quite an easy job — er — no offence. Harry can then copy the photos and draw them — only if you don't mind, Harry, but you really are good at drawing," Harry flushed, looking sheepish, "and then Draco and — and I could fill them in with colour."

Hermione felt something inside her wither, unsure if what she'd gotten herself into had been a good idea.

"That sounds brilliant," Draco said simply, and when Hermione looked at him he was smiling, smiling at _her_, his eyes creased at the corners, warm and friendly and — Hermione sucked in a breath, her face flaming —

— and full of something an awful lot like _love._

* * *

Draco dropped his bag after closing the front door behind him, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt and loosening his tie — which he wasn't used to wearing properly, and thought he'd been strangled by it throughout the day.

He headed into the kitchen, fully intending to make himself something tasty and filling, yet knowing he'll have to settle for peanut butter on toast, when his hand paused on its way to the fridge. _Food_. Draco'd almost forgotten about the kittens down the street which needed food, about the kittens which meant so much to Hermione.

He spun around, ransacked the cupboard, and ended up finding several cans of preserved tuna and some crackers, which he figured would have to do, until he could get a chance to go down to the store and buy some cat food.

Draco was just about to shove the food into his bag for tomorrow, when his father walked into the kitchen, swiping at the cuffs of his shirt and wearing an expression of surprise upon seeing his son.

"Ah, Draco — I'm just leaving, to get er — Teddy, if you remember?"

Draco nodded shortly, stuffing the tuna cans behind his back, looking guiltily awkward, "Right."

Lucius stood there for a few seconds, eyeing his son strangely, yet not suspiciously, before exhaling loudly and picking up his keys. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Draco didn't reply, he didn't have anything to say, so he simply nodded, hid the food in his bag, and watched his father retreat into the hallway.

The doorknob rattled, and Draco listened, listened for the signs of departure, and for a moment all he could see was a flash of long blonde hair leaving him — his mother walking out of the door, the doorknob rattling in just the same way it did now. The day she'd left him, and never came back. And something in Draco's chest threatened to fall apart, so before he knew what he was doing he was rounding the corner, his voice urgent and gravelly as he said, "Wait!"

Lucius froze, the bright afternoon light streaming in through the open door, and when he looked over his shoulder, his pale eyes were wide with shock and confusion, because maybe he thought he'd imagined it, imagined his son's voice calling out to him. But that's what Draco was, right? His son. The son who'd lost one parent, and couldn't bare the idea of losing another.

"I'll — I'll come with you," Draco said, low but decisive, and he wiped the awkwardness of the situation onto his trousers with sweaty palms.

Lucius's brow arched and his eyes flickered, as if seeing something for the first time, something which you had to look at twice to confirm it was real. He nodded once, and then again, because the first one seemed too jerky, and with that Draco was following his father out of the house, locking the door behind him.

* * *

Draco had never been in his father's car before. The interior was clean, but the air was musty, as though the windows were never opened, and when Draco tried to wind his down it was stiff and unused. None of the radio stations had been tuned either, Draco realised after fiddling with it for five minutes. Lucius must enjoy driving in claustrophobic silence.

Draco looked at his father from the corner of his eyes, but the man's gaze was trained ahead of him, his jaw harsh and angular, and his knuckles were taught around the steering wheel.

Draco sighed, thinking of some way he could nonchalantly attempt to break the tension, but in the next second a tinted SUV cut them off without even indicating, swerving into their lane and ripping a curse from Lucius' thin lips, "Fucking bastard! Could have killed somebody!" He violently slammed the horn.

Draco stared.

He blinked, but that wasn't good enough so he stared some more.

Lucius Malfoy was a victim of road rage, then. Draco wasn't surprised, and something akin to humour began to twist the corner of his mouth. "Well," he breathed, "That was something."

Lucius frowned and glared ahead of him, and if Draco knew the man better he would have thought he was embarrassed. "I don't normally respond so aggressively."

"Sure," Draco snorted, "Let me guess, you don't normally drive with the windows down or the radio on, either?"

His father's face turned stony, his cheeks hollowed and his eye twitched. Draco's face fell, fearing he'd pushed the wrong button, and he turned his head to gaze at the passing trucks, the sound of their horns blearing after them as they manoeuvred the busy highway.

Draco had accepted the fact that the rest of the journey would be undergone in silence, and his skin prickled with discomfort, but then Lucius said, "Your mother never started the engine before the radio was turned on, and the windows were down. Even in the winter, when the air was so freezing one could hardly open their eyes. She only ever gave in when it was raining, and her son was getting sodden in the backseat."

Draco suddenly found it hard to breathe, and he willed the sharp shock he felt to stay dormant, to not do anything to encourage the stinging in his eyes.

He still hadn't replied when they veered onto the turnoff to the airport, and when the car was finally parked his head throbbed at his temples. Draco reached for the door handle, needing to get out, needing air, needing to not think about what his father had told him, but before he could he felt a hand on his elbow, and Lucius said quietly, "I don't normally respond so aggressively because I don't have my son's safety to be concerned for."

The stinging increased tenfold, and shrugging away from his father's touch, Draco climbed out of the car. He tried as hard as he could to slam the door, but somehow it didn't work.


End file.
